


In Love With the Ferret

by Pineau_noir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Awkward Flirting, Bad Puns, Banter, Bellatrix isn't in the fic but her legacy lives on, But Mostly Comfort, Cursed objects, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, H/D Wireless 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, If that's your thing - Freeform, M/M, NOTHING IS GRAPHIC, Pining, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, SO, Set in 2008, So book canon timeline, Song fic, a little girl gets cursed, because Draco loves Muggle music, blink and you'll miss it case fic, but she's fine by the time Harry and Draco are called to the scene, domestic drarry, giggly sex, oh yeah and there's scene where Harry's in the shower, sex magic because let's be honest, so many songs from the '00s, they all work at the ministry, wanking, who wouldn't want to clean up with magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineau_noir/pseuds/Pineau_noir
Summary: Harry has never been the most observant bloke. Sometimes to the point of him not realising his feelings for a particular pointy, pale git. And it's not his fault ifliterallyeveryone else knows about said feelings except for Harry and the git in question. So it'sreallynot his fault, when faced with the scope of his feelings, he suddenly has a hard time talking to one Draco Malfoy. Or looking him in the eye. Or not being a total weirdo around him.There's nothing to do but take the advice of his friends and try to woo Draco over dinners with friends, Ministry cases, and an unfortunately named Italian restaurant.Harry just can't stop the flutter in his chest when he sees Draco smile.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 123
Kudos: 559
Collections: DrarryLove, HD Wireless 2020, Harry Poc e Draco Malfoi





	1. Capital-f-Feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parkkate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkkate/gifts).



> Look this is incredibly silly, but I had the best time writing it. There's loads of people to thank for helping me with the journey of claiming a song to publishing almost 22k of words.
> 
> First Parkkate, thank you so much for the prompt! "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz is such a fun song and then you asked for awkward flirting and I was a goner. I admire your fics and humor so much and I was so excited to write a prompt from someone whose work I really love. 
> 
> Second, to my alpha reader C, thank you so much for everything my dear friend. Having you giggle in my doc made it turn out so much better because if you could laugh at my dumb jokes, maybe they were funny after all. You're such a brilliant and hilarious writer so having you crack up was such an amazing feeling.
> 
> Third, to my beta reader A, thank you for putting up with all the tense errors and molding my fic into something so much better than I could have done on my own. You're an incredibly talented writer and to have you enjoy my fic really gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling.
> 
> Fourth, to all of the wonderful people in the Drarry Discord, thank you all so much for being so welcoming and warm. It's been so fun to be a part of this fandom and meet new people and giggle and cry at all of your fics. 
> 
> Finally, to the mods, thank you all for a wonderful fest. Especially with an extension and my flailing in e-mails, you were always so calm and kind and I appreciate you all.
> 
> And somehow this got posted for Harry's 40th which thrills me to no end!!!!

"Dear Merlin, you're in love with the ferret," Ron says, apropos of nothing, one sunny May morning. 

He and Harry have just finished at a crime scene and are about to Apparate back to their office at the DMLE. Harry's struck speechless by Ron's assessment.

"I—" he starts. "No, you—" he tries. “Love?” he croaks. He shakes his head. Vehemently. “But, Draco—” 

"Harry, not here!" Ron insists quietly. "He's _right_ there." Ron then— belying the fact that he had grown up with _five_ older brothers _and_ is a fully trained, accomplished Auror— turns and openly _stares_ at Draco bloody Malfoy, who is disabling the last remaining curse at the crime scene they were all three summoned to a scant hour ago.

"What, Weasley?" Malfoy drawls. "Do you and Potter need directions on how to get back to the Ministry?" 

He lets out a little snort of laughter, the furthest thing from refined and posh and all those other things Malfoy's supposed to be, and _holyfuckingshit_ Ron's right. Harry is indeed in love with the ferret.

"Fuck me," Harry whispers.

"I think you’d rather he do that, mate," Ron whispers back.

——

The thing is that Malfoy has always been incredibly fit. Even during their Hogwarts years when he'd been all pale and pointy and rude, Harry had thought so. His personality had ruined any lasting pash, but there, in the back of Harry's mind, had always been the thought that Draco Malfoy was attractive.

So naturally, after their Eighth Year had started, Malfoy had been remarkably more withdrawn and Harry'd still felt that flicker of attraction and then pity for the other boy. After winter hols, Draco had started coming out of his shell more. He'd personally apologised to all the students in their year for being such an arsehole. 

"Yeah, Malfoy said sorry for being a twat before," Seamus had told Ron, Harry, Dean, and Neville, all of them crowded in Harry and Ron's tiny room. "He never really bothered me much, but he was a right dick to everyone else so I told him 'whatever' and he fucked off." 

After the months of apologies, his dad being sent to Azkaban for life, and doing well in all of his classes, Malfoy had been less of a tosser. Harry knew, hypothetically, that Malfoy was a little… _dramatic_ , but freed from his upbringing, he'd really changed.

For one, he'd started singing all the time. Little things, half under his breath and incredibly out of tune, but it had always been apparent when Malfoy was around. And he hadn't been singing poncy pureblood songs (what those might be Harry had no idea, but he was sure there had to be something they all sang). No, Malfoy had been singing _Muggle_ pop songs. Another thing that Malfoy had started doing was wearing Muggle clothes under his robes; loose jeans and _tight_ white vests under plaid shirts. His hair was growing out and dusted his chin, curling under at the ends. Somehow his eyes had always been lined in black, making the grey so cool and clear. And sometimes he'd worn a thin black choker, nestled under his Adam's apple. Harry had thought long and hard about how licking under the black band would taste.

Then after Hogwarts Harry and Ron had gone into Auror training and Malfoy had been training to be a Curse Breaker and they'd had a couple of classes that overlapped over the next several years at the Ministry. He had been very well liked by his fellow students. He'd still worn tight white vests, but this time they'd been under soft hoodies instead of flannel. His hair had still been longer than his early school years and curled at the ends. Harry had been the only person he knew who'd been surprised that Malfoy had graduated first in his class. 

"Almost as smart as Hermione, isn’t he?" Ron had answered when Harry'd been so shocked. 

"Really, he would have beaten me in a few subjects at Hogwarts," Hermione had said, "if not for… well, you know." She'd looked off, uncomfortable with how Malfoy had spent his Sixth and Seventh Years.

Then a couple of years after _that_ Malfoy had come out. Quite spectacularly. _A New Leaf for Malfoy Heir? Draco Seen With a Man at the Opening of New Club Deep Roots_ , the Prophet had proclaimed after Malfoy had been spotted snogging a visiting Curse Breaker from France. Hermione had scoffed and said "They didn't even try with that headline," while Harry's brain had gone, _oh no, Malfoy is nice now, still hot, and gay. This won't end well. For me_. Then he'd promptly forgotten all about it because he'd started dating a lovely bloke called David. 

He and David had dated for about a year before breaking it off. Harry'd pulled a few guys at clubs and gone on a few casual dates in the ensuing years, but nothing really took until Malfoy reentered his life, consulting full time with the Auror department. He still sang Muggle pop songs and had soft looking hair that curled at the ends and still wore white shirts that clung to his shoulders, but he'd matured over the ten years since the war had ended. And at some point over the last decade, Harry had fallen arse over tit for the git.

"Fuck a duck," Harry whispers, after he and Ron have made it back to their desks and are drinking some tea. "How?" he wails.

"How did it happen, or how did you not know?" Ron asks carefully. "Also do you want the truth or something that won't break your brain?"

Harry lets his head drop to his desk with a loud _thump_ then, deciding it's warranted, thumps his head against the desktop a few more times. 

"I'll go with how it happened and the truth," Ron decides. "He changed, mate. He's still a prat, but he's not under his dad's thumb and he's able to think for himself. He's also conventionally attractive and _weird_ which, 'Mione and I have realised is your type." Ron takes a loud slurp of his tea then lets out a sigh. "You know he comes by the house to ask 'Mione for help?" 

Harry raises his head to look at Ron in disbelief. 

"It's true!" Ron insists. "They're almost," he shudders a little, "mates." 

Harry drops his head back on the desk.

“Why is Harry making out with his desk?” Seamus asks, after walking by and pausing, then coming back to stare at Harry.

“Malfoy,” Ron answers.

Seamus starts laughing and leaves without another word.

“Does everybody know but me?” Harry wails. The effect's a bit muted as he’s still face down on his desk.

“Does everybody know what, Potter?” Malfoy asks as _he_ walks into Harry and Ron’s office.

“About your new tattoo,” Ron replies, more smoothly than Harry expects. 

Harry peers under his glasses at the blond blob whose face is less alabaster and more of a pale pink. Moving his glasses from his forehead to his eyes, Harry takes Malfoy in. He’s wearing teal skinny jeans, his ever-present tight white shirt (a v-neck Harry’s brain helpfully supplies), and a slim-fitting black jacket. His hair is pulled up into a small ponytail. He looks delectable. 

Harry groans. Malfoy’s _collarbones_ are exposed and Harry sees the hint of a tattoo under the right one. 

“Oh, precious Potter doesn’t like tattoos?” Malfoy taunts, still pink at the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks. 

“Like ‘em fine,” Harry says, feeling his face catch fire. “Just didn’t know you got one.”

Malfoy’s ears, somehow, turn a darker pink. Harry wonders what colour they turn when someone nibbles on them and then lets his head crash back down to his desk.

“How are your glasses not broken?” Malfoy asks, actual interest in his tone.

“Hermione,” Ron says. 

“Ah,” Malfoy says back. 

Harry keeps his eyes closed and starts counting backwards from a hundred. He hits eighty-seven when Malfoy speaks again. 

“I am actually here for a reason,” he says to Ron and possibly the back of Harry’s head.

Harry lifts up his head. “Did you find something at the site?” 

Malfoy nods. “Yeah, they were sloppy and I was able to get a trace on one of the wands used to curse the victim. I’ve sent the data off to be analysed. As soon as Records has a match, they’ll let us all know.”

“Great!” Ron booms. “Thanks for letting us know!” Ron’s cheerfulness is obviously put on and Harry can see him darting his eyes between Malfoy and himself. “Going to the loo, too much tea, ya know?” he says, awkwardly. Then he practically runs out of the office.

“Weasley has gotten stranger since he became a father,” Malfoy muses as he walks over to Ron’s desk and starts looking at the pictures on his wall. 

Harry turns to watch him. Malfoy pauses at one of Harry and Rose; Harry’s got her on his shoulders and he’s pretending to be a broom while she shouts, “Fwy! Fwy!” in her little voice. 

“Lack of sleep,” Harry agrees. 

“Rose certainly takes after her mother,” Malfoy adds, now looking at a picture of Rose and Hermione. “She’s the most willful toddler I’ve ever met.”

Harry lets out a little laugh. “That she is,” he says, surprised that they agree on something. It’s still far less surprising than realising he has capital-f-Feelings for Malfoy.

“Do you visit them a lot?”

Malfoy turns sharply to look at Harry. “I wouldn’t say a lot, Potter. Don’t worry, I won’t break up the Golden—”

“No!” Harry half shouts. It’s important that Malfoy knows he’s not upset that he and Hermione have cultivated a friendship. “I think it’s nice,” he says, a little stupidly. “‘Sides, they’re good friends. Helpful in a crisis.”

Malfoy stares at him, then lets out a little laugh. “I suppose you would know,” he allows. “I do enjoy talking magical theory with Hermione. And Weasley’s a decent cook.”

“Maybe I could join you next time?” Harry can _hear_ the hopefulness in his tone, but he’s helpless to stop it.

"That would be… tolerable," Malfoy allows. "Weasley usually looks bored when Hermione and I are discussing things."

"Gratastic!" Harry says, trying and failing to say either 'great' or 'fantastic'. He turns back to his desk and lets his head thump back down onto it.

"Careful," Malfoy warns. "You'll give yourself a concussion." Then he leaves Harry to his misery.

Ron walks back in, like he was waiting on Malfoy to leave. "That didn't go great, Harry."

"Fuck me," Harry says in a weak voice.

——

Dinner with Ron, Hermione, and _Malfoy_ doesn't happen for a while. Ron and he solve the case, (" _The_ case," Ron had waggled his eyebrows, "of Harry's missing heart") and Malfoy works a few cases with other Auror teams. Harry's had several interesting dreams about thin blond men who sing off-pitch pop songs, which have turned into early morning wank sessions. The separation and wanking both mean when Harry _does_ see Malfoy again, he can't look him in the eye.

"Potter," Malfoy says, quite possibly with a sneer, but Harry is too busy looking at the hem of his burgundy skinny jeans. "You've gotten weirder."

Harry does risk a glance up at Malfoy's face at that, but has to promptly look down at the stitching around Malfoy's ankles again because Harry can feel his face heat.

"Maybe I've always been weird," Harry suggests.

"You're weirding me out," Ron mutters. 

"I'm dropping by because of the doll—" 

"Blergh," Harry says, shuddering. 

"You were expecting me, then?" Harry can hear the smile in Malfoy's voice. Which is nice because now Harry's studying the ankle boots Malfoy's wearing.

"Mate," Ron says. "That thing is creepier than Voldemort."

Instead of the gasp Harry's expecting from Malfoy, he lets out the same, unattractive, snorting laugh which made Harry realise he's well and truly fucked when it comes to Malfoy. Harry curses the layout of their office at that moment. When Ron and he had taken the space over, they'd decided to put their desks on opposite walls, facing away from each other. It has greatly increased the amount of paperwork they complete, but now, when Harry needs to catch Ron's eye, he'll have to be very obvious about that fact. He settles for looking at Malfoy's knees.

"Potter?" Malfoy asks. "Where is the nightmare dolly?" 

"We hid it in the corner then threw my invisibility cloak over it," Harry says, a little sheepishly.

"Is it _truly_ cursed or just creepy?" Malfoy asks.

Harry snaps his head up. "We got really dark readings off it, Malfoy. The fact that it looks like it would murder you while you sleep is incidental." 

Malfoy levitates Harry's cloak off the doll. Apparently, knowing the general area is enough for Malfoy to find something, well, invisible. Harry turns to watch him. Ron has also turned and catches Harry's eye. 

"Ask him!" he mouths to Harry. Harry shakes his head. 

Harry watches as Malfoy waves his wand and bright red lights take over the creepy toy. Malfoy lets out a little hum. He does something else and a spiderweb of green lights replaces the red. 

"This really _is_ nasty," Malfoy admits. He turns to look at Harry then Ron. "It'd be easier for me to take care of this in my office," he admits.

Ron nods. "Yeah, whatever you need," Ron says as Malfoy walks to the door. "Hey, Rose has been asking for you, Malfoy. Are you free next week for dinner?"

Harry watches as a truly sweet smile takes over Malfoy's face. 

"She's got good taste," he says as his ears turn pink. "Thursday's no good, but I'm free the rest of the week."

Ron nods and looks at Harry. "Sounds good," he says while giving Harry a lot of eye contact. "I'll owl you."

Malfoy takes possession of the cursed doll and floats it back to his office, singing, “It’s Brittney, bitch, and I just want to dance with you. Everytime they turn the lights down, just want to go that extra mile for you,” and Harry shrieks internally.

"That could've gone a lot worse," Ron says with a grin.

Harry rolls his eyes. "We already talked about dinner at yours, Ron. He said he wouldn't mind."

"Still went rather well," Ron responds. "I'll make mains and you can make dessert? Win him over with your tarts." 

Ron gives Harry a slight leer and Harry has to turn his head to keep from laughing.

"Yeah, I can make something. But I'm pretty sure Malfoy only thinks I'm gonna be at yours to keep you company while he and Hermione talk…" Harry pauses. "Well, whatever they talk about."

"Brilliant," Ron says with a big smile. "Rose is great, but it will be more fun having you to keep me company." 

Harry stares at him. 

“And you can romance Malfoy,” Ron adds. “I mean, that is assuming you actually speak to him.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I might be able to,” he admits. “But my secret weapon will be there at least.” 

Ron tilts his head in question. 

Harry powers on, “Alco—”

“No, Harry. You’re not going to get pissed and flirt with Malfoy. You’re not nearly as suave as you think you are.”

Harry lets out a sigh, petulant to even his own ears. “Fine. Then I’ll use Rose. No one can resist me when I’m being cute with her.”

Ron stares at him. “You know, normally, I would discourage using my daughter to pull, but in this case, you may be right.”

“I didn’t say I was going to take him off and blow him in your loo!” Harry says, offended.

“Well, now that you’ve put that picture in my head, you’re not going anywhere near my bathroom while Malfoy is over.” 

Ron is biting back a smile, but Harry knows he’s not wrong. He’s a _delight_ with kids. 

Ron lets out a truly fake sigh. “Fine, you can be cute with my only daughter to impress a man, Harry.” Ron thinks for a moment. 

“Don’t tell Hermione.”

——

Ron and Hermione decide on a Friday night for the big dinner. Harry’s happy because there are two ways he will benefit from not having work the next day. Either A) he brings Malfoy home and they shag until the wee hours of the morning, or B) he goes back to his flat to drink enough to forget the look on Malfoy’s face when he realises Harry’s flirting with him. So basically, he’ll need a lie-in for both scenarios. Though Harry is hopeful for situation A, he’s much more resigned to the fact that he will probably be drinking his sorrows away after the dinner.

No matter what happens, Harry's happy to have best friends who support him in his romantic adventures. He reckons their closeness is partially because they’ve been best friends for seventeen years, and partially that Ron and Hermione married at nineteen, all of which makes them too invested in each others’ lives. But Harry is happy to have his friends’ support even if a one-night stand once described their relationship as _almost incestuous_. Harry had promptly ripped up his Floo address and asked his Mind Healer about the issue. Flora had said that as long as Harry didn’t run every decision by his friends then they were probably fine. Hermione'd called it a load of tosh and Ron had laughed until he cried. Which was all to say that his friends were his family and wanted him to be happy and if they could help with the matter, well then they would.

Bringing himself back to the fact that it's half six and he is expected at Ron’s at seven and Harry has yet to shower or dress, he panics a little. Throwing off his work clothes, Harry jumps in his shower before it is warm enough and lets out a little shriek. 

“Muggle plumbing,” he groans to himself. But he’s able to quickly wash himself off and sets a Hot Air Charm all over himself to dry. The spell always leaves his hair really wild, but no wilder than letting it air dry and besides, Malfoy has been aware of Harry’s hair for forever so it’s not like changing that aspect of himself will win Malfoy over.

Harry stops and takes a deep breath. His heart is pounding in his chest and his mind is racing from the thought of flirting with Malfoy. 

“Ron and ‘Mione’s is a safe place,” he whispers to himself. “Malfoy isn’t a racist arsehole anymore.” He takes another deep breath. “You’re a catch, Witch Weekly’s Best Smile Winner for the last decade,” he tells himself with a wry grin. 

The breathing has helped his anxiety and he takes the time to look for clothes that will compliment him instead of what’s nearby.

Walking into his closet, Harry pulls out some black skinny jeans and a dark green Henley for inspection. The trousers are tight but according to Luna make his bum look nice and the shirt is comfortable and soft. Between the two, he shouldn’t feel too uncomfortable. He quickly dresses and grabs his cleanest trainers and walks to the Floo. Casting a quick _Tempus_ , he's surprised to find out he’s running exactly on time. 

He makes it to Ron and Hermione’s in one piece and only partially covered in ash. 

“Hawwy!” Rose cries as she runs to Harry and grabs him at the knees.

“How’s my favourite lady?” Harry asks, picking her up to nuzzle her head and place a kiss on her hair.

“Fwy, Hawwy!” she answers. 

“Maybe after dinner,” Hermione responds, walking in from the kitchen. She pulls Harry into a hug. “Ron’s told me you’re here to woo Draco,” she whispers. “He’s in the kitchen talking Quidditch with Ron.”

Harry feels his cheeks heat. “I don’t know about ‘woo’,” he says back. 

Pulling Rose out of Harry’s arms, Hermione tuts at him. “Well, he’d be a fool not to be interested.” 

She looks Harry up and down. “You look nice,” she says. “Good choice on the trousers.” Then she turns and starts singing, “Din-din time for Rosie, oh my sweet girl, will you eat your food or throw it at our guests?” and Harry lets out a laugh. 

“You can do this, Potter,” he says to himself before following Hermione into the dining room. “You can look him in the eye.”

As it turns out, Harry _cannot_ look Malfoy in the eye. After an awkward five minutes, Ron takes pity on him and pours him a glass of wine. The slight bit of alcohol takes Harry’s anxiety from a maelstrom to a dull roar. 

“So, Draco,” Hermione starts after Harry’s able to look up from his plate. “Ron said you were helping him with a cursed item? He wouldn’t give me too many details.”

“Ugh, Hermione, you don’t want to know how creepy that thing is,” Harry says. “It’s like to give you nightmares.”

“Potter’s right,” Malfoy agrees. “I grew up in a bloody manor filled with dark and cursed objects and I can’t look it in the eye.”

Hermione lets out a laugh. “What is it?”

“It’s a doll that’s been possessed by malevolent spirits,” Malfoy responds.

“What, really?” Ron asks in shock.

“No you prat,” Malfoy answers with a smirk. “It’s merely a horrific children’s toy that somehow got cursed half a dozen times.” He takes a drink of his wine. “It _is_ terribly dangerous, but from magic, not from the thing itself. After I’ve taken all the curses off, I’m sure Rose would love it.” 

He smiles at Rose and she waves her hand back at him.

Harry, who is in the middle of a bite of mouthwatering chicken, starts laughing and chokes. 

“Good plan, Malfoy,” he croaks out after he’s successfully swallowed his food. “We can take turns hiding it around the house.”

Malfoy turns to look at Harry at that. Harry has felt, many times, gazes over his person. He’s used to a calculating look from men at clubs; he’s used to the ‘thank you so much, _Saviour_ ’ looks from the older generation; hell he’s used to ‘please marry my _insert family member here_ ’ looks. But this warm, fond look from Malfoy takes his breath away.

“Yeah?” Malfoy asks softly.

“No!” Ron shouts. “If I had known dinner would lead to plotting between you two wankers, I would have never suggested it,” he says darkly.

“Language, Ronald!” Hermione hisses with a look towards Rose, but she’s too busy stuffing her face with mashed food to pay attention.

Malfoy just sends Harry a small, secret smile and Harry’s unable to speak for the next few minutes. Thankfully, Hermione has started teasing Ron about the doll and Harry’s happy to be with his best friends and the guy he fancies. After his heart has stopped going pitter-patter, he and Ron start shouting about Quidditch and Malfoy and Hermione start talking about incredibly technical things. 

Ron takes advantage of the fact that Malfoy’s attention is elsewhere and leans into Harry. 

“You’re talking to him,” he says with a little punch to Harry's shoulder. “Much better than at the office!”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he can’t deny that being in a relaxed environment is allowing him to interact with Malfoy more. 

“It still wasn’t your idea,” he whispers back.

Ron leans back in satisfaction and winks at Harry. Then he lifts up his glass. 

“Sorry to interrupt, ‘Mione, but we’ve got two lovely blokes here and I want to make a little toast.” 

Hermione nods and looks at Harry in question. He shakes his head a little, appreciating the fact that she would give him an out. 

“Harry, you’ve always been our friend and Malfoy, we used to hate you, but now it turns out you’re not so bad.” Malfoy lets out a little snort at that. “So I would like to make a little toast to our guests.” 

Hermione looks at Harry again, but Ron has hit his stride and Harry knows even _she_ can’t stop this now. 

“To Harry and Malfoy,” he proclaims, then clinks his glass with Harry’s. 

“To Harry and Malfoy,” Hermione responds dubiously as Harry glares at his former best friend.

“Hawwy! Maaafoy!” Rose shouts, waving her little fists. 

Malfoy looks at them all like they’ve grown two heads. “To Potter and me,” he says sceptically.

“I hate you, Ron,” Harry hisses.

——

The next time Harry sees Malfoy, he’s confident he’ll be able to speak like a normal person. He’s seen Flora in the interim. He had confessed to her that usually, he doesn’t have a hard time talking to hot guys, that he can mostly look them in the eyes even, but for some reason, Draco Malfoy proves to be the exception. She'd given him a few exercises to help calm his anxiety and Harry was cautiously optimistic. 

So when Malfoy drops by Harry and Ron’s office a week after the dinner, Harry hopes to greet him like a functional human being.

“Howdy, Malfoy.” 

Malfoy stares at him. Ron hisses _what the fuck was that_ , and Harry decides to just go with it. 

He tips an invisible hat. “What brings you ‘ere today?”

“Potter, are you feeling well?” Malfoy asks, actual concern on his face. “Do you need to go to Mungo’s?”

Ron laughs. “No, Harry got a little too invested in, what were those things we watched over the weekend?”

“Spaghetti Westerns,” Harry answers immediately. He looks at Ron and fires off two-finger guns. “Pardner.”

Malfoy looks at them both before turning and leaving. Harry frowns but it doesn’t last long because after about half a minute, Malfoy walks back in. 

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” he declares. “Good news is that it doesn’t seem you’ve been cursed, Potter.” 

Harry nods, aware that he’s weird and anxious around Malfoy and not _cursed_. 

“The bad news is that as you’re not cursed, you seem to just be an odd person.”

“Yeah, we all knew that, Malfoy,” Ron says with a grin.

Malfoy shakes his head and Harry can see a slight smile on his face. 

“The movies are really good, Malfoy,” Harry says. “You should watch one. They make brilliant drinking games.”

Ron lets out a groan. “No, Harry! You can't do that again! You’re going to end up dead from firewhiskey poisoning.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I _am_ actually here for a reason, you know. As much as the Potty and Weaselby show amuses me, we are in fact, at our place of employment.”

Harry nods and puts on his work face to show Malfoy he’s paying attention. Ron swivels his chair so they’re both staring at Malfoy. 

“I was finally able to take all of the dark magic off the doll you recovered last week. Ronald, I’ve owled the thing to yours so your daughter may play with it.” 

Ron’s face goes an exciting hue of red and Malfoy’s ears go pink and his grin is blinding. Malfoy throws up a quick Shield Charm to deflect the jink Ron fires off at him. Harry’s starting to realise that the Malfoy who goes pink and happy is Harry’s favourite version of Draco. But then his face becomes more serious. 

“I do actually have some unfortunate news.” He lets out a sigh. “When I started taking the curses off the doll, I was able to match some of the curses to a likely caster.” He sighs again. “I believe it came from my dear old Auntie Bellatrix’s estate.”

“Oof,” Ron says. “Do you think…”

Malfoy nods, grimacing. “Yes, I’m sure she had more cursed items. I have no idea why this showed up so long after she died, but I’m going to let Robards know that everyone needs to be on the lookout for more.”

“Are they all…” Harry starts.

“Both cursed and sinister?” Malfoy nods. “Yes, in this case, her hubris may be her undoing. Well, after Molly Weasley, that is.” 

Ron straightens his shoulders and grins at the mention of his mum. 

“If we know to look for dark magic on objects that have a rather macabre effect, then I think we'll be able to easily identify the objects.” 

“So standard operating procedure will be to contain and bring the objects to you?” Ron asks, suddenly in full-Auror mode.

Malfoy nods. “For right now that will be for the best. After I talk to Robards, I’ll liaise with whomever is running point on the case. I can’t imagine it will take up too many resources as Bellatrix is deceased, but who knows how many cursed objects she left behind.” He looks at Ron and then Harry and smiles a little sadly. “I'd hoped that part of my life was over,” he admits.

“It is!” Harry insists. “You’ve saved our arses so many times since we all graduated from Hogwarts. It’s not your fault your aunt was basically evil incarnate.”

Malfoy seems to perk up at that. “I do seem to have squashed the ‘evil mastermind’ trait,” he says.

Ron starts wheezing. At first, Harry’s concerned, but he eventually realises Ron’s actually laughing. 

“Evil mastermind,” he says between laughs. “Yeah, those ‘Potter Stinks’ badges really were your baby steps into villain-hood, weren’t they?” 

Harry lets out a laugh at Malfoy's expression. He's vacillating between amusement and annoyance. Finally, he makes up his mind and grins. 

"Really got under your skin at the time. I still consider that an achievement."

"Whatever, Malfoy," Ron fires back. 

Malfoy looks at the small watch on his wrist and frowns. "I'm actually going to be late for a staff meeting if I don't go now. Please let me know about anything you run across that could be Bellatrix's." 

Harry and Ron nod as Malfoy looks put out. 

"I really should be on my way," he insists.

"Then go!" Ron half shouts. Malfoy furrows his forehead then he turns to Harry with an almost apologetic look on his face.

"Don't be late," Harry manages to say. 

Malfoy gives him another one of those fond smiles and turns to leave, muttering to himself under his breath as he walks away.

——

The next time Harry sees Draco is on Draco’s birthday. Draco looks furious at the crowd surrounding him in the tiny breakroom of the DMLE. They're trying to sing to him, and though there is cake, Harry still flees.

“Lovely of you to leave me at the mercy of the masses,” Draco drawls, half an hour later, holding a plate with a large slice of cake. Harry perks up and Draco scoffs. “If you'd rescued me, you might get cake, Potter. As it was, I had to save myself so this slice is all for me. It is, afterall, _my_ birthday.” 

Harry feels his shoulder droop. “You seemed like you had the situation under control?” he tries. 

Draco lets out a little laugh, then snags Ron’s chair and pulls it over to Harry’s desk, a feat made easier by the wheels that Harry and Ron have attached to the legs.

“This is nice,” Draco mutters at the chair. He looks down at the wheels again then up at Harry. “I assume Muggles are responsible for this improvement?” 

Harry nods and then Draco smiles and hands him the piece of cake.

Harry feels his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I thought I didn’t get cake?”

Draco smirks. “Yes, well, you looked so frightened, I took pity on you. Far be it from me to let our Golden Boy starve.”

Conjuring a fork and digging into the cake, Harry mumbles, “I would be upset about the ‘Golden Boy’ thing, but you brought”—a small crumb of cake flies into the air at _brought_ and Draco flinches—“Cake,” Harry finishes saying after he swallows his bite. 

“Were you raised by wolves?” Draco asks, incredulous.

“Nah,” Harry responds with a smirk. “There’s something about you that makes me want to be annoying.”

“And not look me in the eye,” Draco drawls back. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your inability to speak to me like a regular person. Why are you different today?” 

Harry shrugs, a little helplessly. “Cake?” he suggests. 

Draco’s ears do that cute pink thing and Harry bites back a smile. 

“Well then, I'll have to remember to bring sweets when I next visit so we can have a somewhat normal interaction in the future.” 

Harry keeps shoving cake in his mouth so he doesn’t have to answer and to hopefully distract Draco from the answering blush on Harry’s face. Draco lifts up his hand and gently wipes a spot under Harry’s lip, making Harry blush even harder. 

“You had—” Draco starts, his whole face now pink. “Frosting,” he says as he looks at his finger and mutters a quiet _Scourgify_. 

They sit together, the silence only broken by Harry’s fork clinking on his plate as he finishes his cake. When he’s done, he smiles at Draco. 

“Thanks for the cake,” he whispers. “Happy birthday.”

“You’re very welcome, Potter. And thanks. It’s been a better day than I’d imagined.”

“Are you?” Harry says, louder than he means. “Do you have plans tonight? Dinner plans?” He shakes his head. “Of course you do, it’s your birthday.”

Draco smiles, a little wryly. “Drinks with Pansy and Blaise,” he answers. “And tomorrow, dinner with my mother.”

“Right.” Harry nods a little frantically. “Rain check?” 

Harry’s not going to let himself overthink this. He’s finally had a decent conversation with Draco and he wants to have more of them in the future. 

However, he does hold his breath for a second, but Draco nods and says, “Yes, Potter. That would be agreeable.” Then he Vanishes Harry’s dirty plate and fork.

“Owl me when you’re free and we’ll set up a belated birthday dinner,” Draco says as he gets up. “And let me know if the department finds any more creepy things.” 

Harry can hear Draco singing, "Makin' my way downtown, walkin' fast, faces pass and I'm homebound," as he leaves and Harry can't hide his smile.

As soon as Harry is alone in the office, Ron bustles in. 

“Harry!” he exclaims. “That was great! He flirted back with you this time!”

Harry lets out a groan. “Not helping, Ron.” Feeling a smile overtake his face, Harry starts giggling. “You’re turning into your mother, did you know?”

“No!” Ron gasps. “You take that back right now, Harry James Potter!” Then he gasps again. “You’re right!” he half shrieks. “We always thought Charlie was going to be the next Mum, but it’s me!” 

Ron lets himself flop down into his chair which is still by Harry’s desk. Then he shakes himself out of his funk and grins at Harry. 

“He brought you cake,” he says with a wink. “And you sorta maybe asked him out.”

Harry points at Ron, betrayed. “Mum!” he declares.

“I like my mum,” Ron answers, still smiling. “I do have good news though. Well, good maybe only for you, bad news, generally speaking for the Wizarding World at large. But in this one case, it’s really a mixed—”

“Ron!” Harry cries. “What?”

“Oh, just, we found this.” 

Harry's eyes track Ron as he casts a _Finite_ at the floor by his feet. When the Disillusionment Charm is lifted, Harry shouts.

“What the fucking fuck, Ron?”

“We think it’s one of Bellatrix’s,” he answers.

“What the FUCKING FUCK?” Harry repeats. Loudly.

“Oh, so sending my daughter a creepy doll is fine, but a teddy bear with human teeth disturbs your delicate sensibilities?”

“The doll didn’t have teeth!” Harry shrieks.

“Yes but the doll has eyes that see into your _soul_!” Ron cries. 

He smirks at Harry and nudges the bear with his foot, making it wiggle a little. Harry pushes his chair away and hisses. 

“They’re not _actually_ from a person,” Ron explains, smiling. “Hermione said they were den...ters.”

“Dentures?”

Ron looks up from the bear and nods. “Yes! That.”

“It’s still creepy, mate.” Harry can’t quite stop his full body shudder and turns his chair so he doesn’t have to look at the thing again.

“Well, when Malfoy takes all of the curses off, I’ll be sure to save it for your children.” 

Harry twirls around and sees the smug look on Ron’s face. 

“Rose loves that bloody murder doll. Can’t get her to part from it. It’s only fair. Do you want to send a message to Malfoy, or should I?"

“I can do it,” Harry says, digging in his desk to find his invisibility cloak and throwing it over the toy. “Things are a little better now that I can look at him without blushing. Occasionally. And as you said, he _did_ bring me cake.”

Malfoy comes almost immediately after Harry sends the memo and takes the bear, no sign of the softer, flirtier version of himself evident. He’s preoccupied by the toy and frowns at Harry, distracted. 

“I had hoped we wouldn’t find more,” he admits, levitating the bear and following it out of the office before Harry has a chance to respond.

Harry’s left with a frown and slumped shoulders after the encounter. But before he goes home, he gets an interoffice memo from Draco that says, _Don’t forget about that dinner you owe me_ , and Harry still counts the day as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg! Caroll-in made THE BEST ART of [ Rose and her nightmare doll](https://caroll-in.tumblr.com/post/625987378486657024/pineau-noir-i-couldnt-help-myself-silly-little)! 
> 
> They're so perfect, I literally had to flap my hands at my face to keep from crying at work! I'm so freaking amazed ❤


	2. A sense of decorum

A few days go by and Harry and Ron find another cursed toy, this time a set of Mickey and Minnie Mouse toys that have embroidered teeth.

“What was her obsession with teeth?” Ron shouts, after they're called to an abandoned house and see the black and white stuffed mice with anthropomorphic features. Their smiles are grimaces and they have individual fingers and toes. Ron stomps over to them and runs a few scans that show they definitely fit the pattern of cursed children’s toys. 

Letting out a sigh, Ron asks, “Do you think we should take it back to the office or have Malfoy come out here and look at it?” 

“It might not be a bad idea for Draco to see it where we found it,” Harry says. “Maybe he can get a read from the house that we haven’t.” 

Ron nods and sends his Patronus off. 

Harry stands, awkwardly, and looks around at the derelict house. 

“Why would Bellatrix leave something here?” he asks. “If her goal was to hurt Muggles, what would she accomplish by hiding a cursed object somewhere nobody would want to visit?”

Ron jumps at the crack of Apparition and Draco walks through the door, wand casting as soon as he’s past the threshold. Harry takes a minute to watch him work. 

One thing Harry'd realised, during his great Bi-awakening, was that he’s attracted to competence. He and Hermione had gotten roaringly drunk while Ron had been working late one night, years ago, and they’d discussed all of his crushes. 

“Well, Cedric, obviously,” Hermione had said, winking. “He was the Hogwarts Champion, Harry!” 

Nodding Harry’d added, “And fit.” 

Hermione had sighed. “So fit,” she’d said, slurring a little.

“Cho's wicked smart _and_ a Seeker.” 

“And Ginny!” Hermione'd shouted. 

Harry’d been a little taken aback at her vehemence. 

“All of the Weasleys are competent, ” she had said. Then she’d taken another deep drink from her glass of wine and looked Harry right in the eye. “Malfoy—”

“No!” Harry had shouted. “I just think he’s pretty!”

Hermione had nodded. “David?” she’d asked, because the night Harry was currently musing about was right around the time he'd met his first boyfriend.

“David’s good with his hands,” Harry had admitted, giggling.

“Ew, Harry!” Hermione had shrieked, giggling. “I didn’t need to know that!”

Harry’s pulled from his musing about competence (and how _incredibly_ competent Draco is at his job) by a nudge from Ron. 

“You’re drooling, mate,” he says, nodding at Malfoy.

“He’s good at his job! Like _really_ good!” Harry insists, his inner monologue rapidly turning into an external monologue. 

Ron shrugs. “He is,” he agrees. “You're still drooling.”

Malfoy turns around, frowning. “It’s definitely one of Bellatrix’s,” he says. “But she didn’t leave it here. I found a hint of someone else’s magic, hidden quite well, on the girl mouse.”

“Minnie,” Harry says, _helpfully_.

“Sure,” Draco agrees, distracted. “I’ll need to get these back to my lab to see if I can get anymore information about who would be leaving these things.” 

Then he takes in his surroundings, as if he’s just now seeing them. 

“How were you notified about the toys?” he asks. “I can’t imagine these being found by a witch or wizard by chance.”

Shaking his head, Ron says, “No, we got an anonymous tip. They said there were some cursed Muggle artefacts that the Aurors might find interesting.” 

Harry lets out a little snort when Ron calls the stuffed mice 'artefacts’, but his eyes never leave Draco. 

“And the others?” Draco asks, his frown now creasing his forehead.

“Those turned up in Muggle charity shops,” Harry says, watching every twitch of Draco’s face for an idea about what he’s thinking. “Thankfully, the staff had decided they were too scary to sell and had binned them. When the staff threw them into the bin they spontaneously caught fire. After the staff had put the fires out, the toys seemed exactly the same. That’s when they called their police and then the Auror liaison got in touch with us.” 

“How old were the people who worked at the shops?” Draco asks.

“Pensioners,” Ron answers. “All of them in the sixty and over crowd.”

Draco turns back to the toys and starts muttering spells until he seems to find what he’s looking for. His shoulders slump and Harry wants to run and hug him, but knows that’s highly unprofessional. He has no idea how Draco would react to an embrace in a spooky house in front of Ron and two stuffed mice.

“They’re cursed to go off if someone under the age of seventeen touches them,” Draco says in a sad voice.

“Fuck,” Ron whispers. “I knew your aunt was mental but…”

Draco doesn’t respond, casting a Stasis Charm on the toys and Disapparating away. 

“Maybe you should follow him, Harry,” Ron says, looking at the place where Draco had just been. “I’ll go back to our office and start the preliminary paperwork.”

“Thanks,” Harry says a little gruffly. “I think he…”

Ron sighs. “Yeah, I think so too. Go talk to him.”

Harry, forever grateful for his best friend, tries to smile and Apparates back to the Ministry.

——

"Draco!" Harry shouts as he rounds the corner to Draco's office. 

There’s no answer. 

“Draco!” Harry shouts again and bangs on the door.

“What?” Draco yells after he’s wrenched the door open.

Harry’s a little taken aback. “Oh, er,” he says, scratching his neck. “You left in a hurry. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yes, Potter, I’m fine. You can go back—”

“I don’t think you are though,” Harry says, interrupting to really _look_ at Draco. 

His grey eyes are tinged with red, his nose is pink and looks sore, and his hair, usually shiny and sleek, is mussed and staticky. 

“I really don’t think you’re fine,” Harry says, feeling his heart ache. 

Draco’s eyes search Harry’s face, and he must find what he’s looking for because he turns and lets Harry into his office. Harry gently closes the door and looks around.

Harry’s been to Draco’s office before, of course he has. Draco works directly with the Auror Department and Harry has consulted with him on several occasions. But he’s still taken aback by how _homey_ everything is. The first time he'd visited, he'd expected a minimalistic approach with cold metal and uncomfortable chairs. The reality is much different. Draco had admitted he'd taken some of his favourite pieces from the Manor and Harry had seen, right away why. The squashy amber loveseat, the desk with its stained top and chipped legs and intricate carvings, the floor lamps with their leaded glass shades that cast a golden hue over the room, had been consigned to the place where Draco spent a good portion of his time.

But Draco is currently ignoring everything in the room, Harry included. It’s as if there’s a huge _Keep Away_ sign over his head. He's looking at one of his bookshelves and Harry can see a small tremor running along his shoulders. 

“Draco,” Harry whispers, helplessly.

“Now’s not a good time,” Draco whispers back wetly. “I’ll let you know as soon as—”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Harry walks away from the door, past the desk, into the far corner where Draco is hiding. He ends up close enough to feel Draco’s warmth. 

“What can I do?”

“Every time I think that chapter of my life is over, something like this happens.” Draco’s voice is manic and rough. “I know I didn’t make the right decision, Salazar, I _know_!” 

He whirls around, stopping the words hanging on Harry’s tongue. 

“I know what you’re going to say, Potter. I did do my penance. I made amends. I did everything after the war the right way! And not only did I do things the right way, I _meant_ everything! Every apology! Every speech to my family about their prejudices! Every time I walked out the door, I tried to do better than I had!” 

He stops for a second, his breathing harsh before continuing. “But I’m still _her_ nephew.” He lets out a sigh. “We still share the same blood. And she cursed toys to harm _children_ , Harry.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Harry leans forward and pulls Draco into a hug. Draco must want the physical contact as much as Harry, because he melts into Harry’s arms. 

“I didn’t mean to break down on you at work,” he whispers into Harry’s neck. 

“You didn’t really break down,” Harry whispers back. “You had some emotions you had to work through.”

“Blech,” Draco proclaims and Harry can hear the smile in his voice. “Emotions.”

Harry laughs into Draco’s shoulder and pulls him tight one last time before letting him go. 

“Do you have plans tonight?” Harry asks, once again staring at the hem of Draco’s black skinny jeans. 

“I’ll tell you if you look at me,” Draco answers, his voice still a little thick. 

Harry smiles and lets himself look at Draco. He’s still a little pink from his emotional outburst, but there’s a definite smile on his face now. Harry smiles back. 

“I don’t have any plans,” Draco says. “Are we going to have my belated birthday dinner?”

“Only if you want to,” Harry replies. “If it’s too much, we can—”

“No it’s fine.” Draco smiles again. “Tonight would be lovely,” his eyes sparkle a little, “if there’s wine.”

Harry laughs. “There can be wine,” he promises. "I'll owl you the details when I figure them out?" 

"It's a date, Potter," Draco says with a wink. 

Or what Harry thinks is supposed to be a wink but is really just an awkward fluttering of his eyelashes. Harry is charmed and feels himself flush.

"Eight o'clock?"

"Perfect, Harry," Draco says with a smile.

Harry's heart starts up a sharp staccato rhythm in his chest.

—— 

Harry spends the rest of the work day in a haze, his brain staticky. He’s thankful that Ron is his partner because Ron is fluent in _Harry speak_.

“DATE, Ron,” he says.

“You asked him out? Brilliant!” Ron crows.

“ _He_ said date!” 

Then Harry takes up his new favourite pastime of banging his head on his desk.

“Harry!” Ron says, his voice fond. “This is what you wanted”

“Yes,” Harry agrees, “but now there’s all this pressure to not fuck things up.”

Ron laughs. Harry glares at him. Ron laughs some more. 

“You’ll be fine,” Ron says after he stops laughing. 

Harry may or may not continue glaring at him. 

“Stop glaring at me,” Ron says. “You remind me of Percy when you glare.”

Harry debates rushing out of their office in a huff but remembers why Ron is his best mate. 

“Where can I take him?” he asks in a rush. “If this is a date AND a birthday dinner, I need somewhere special!”

Ron nods and sends Harry a soft smile. “Yeah, the Leaky isn’t gonna cut it,” he agrees. He thinks for a moment. “Do you think Malfoy would be good with a Muggle restaurant?”

“I don’t know, Ron!” Harry shrieks. “You and Hermione see him outside of work more than I do!”

“Muggle’s probably fine,” Ron continues, ignoring Harry’s outburst. “There’s this tiny, hole-in-the-wall Italian place ‘Mione found, Pasta Was a Rolling Stone. It looks like it's right out of a rom-com, but it’s got the best red sauce I’ve ever had. And meatballs as big as your fist.” 

He lets out a little hum. 

“Maybe skip the garlic bread though. Unless you’re opposed to kissing on the first date.” Then he seems to realise what he’s said and backpedals. “You don’t have to answer that! And it’s not _you_ doing the kissing that I’m opposed to, it’s more…well it’s Malfoy, innit?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “How about I don’t go into any specifics unless you ask?” 

Ron nods. 

“You do know you’re going to ask though,” Harry continues with a sly grin. “You meddle as much as your mum.”

“I’m the new Mum!” Ron declares proudly. 

“Worse people to be,” Harry agrees.

“So any big plans besides wining and dining Malfoy?”

Harry’s brain stalls. “I mean, there’s like a wish list of activities—”

“For Circe’s sake, Harry, don't finish that sentence.”

Harry has to bite back a smile. For all that Ron wants to know everything, in reality, he usually doesn’t want to know _everything_. Also he is, perhaps, winding his best friend up a smidge. He’s hoping for a goodnight kiss after dinner and maybe plans for a second date. But he knows Ron will only poke and meddle more if Harry shares his schmoopy feelings.

Changing tactics, Ron asks, “Do you know what you’re going to wear?”

Harry looks down at his ratty jeans and t-shirt, things that are fine under his Auror robes, but definitely won't work for a first date. 

“Um, not this?” he offers.

“What about that [shirt](https://images.app.goo.gl/3kXPeF8iVV8H4T6M7) Gin got you last year?” Ron leers.

“It’s too tight!” Harry proclaims. “The buttons barely fasten around my chest and the sleeves are too short! Who buys a shirt with sleeves that short? Who _designs_ a shirt like that?”

“Yeah, but the color looks good with your skin tone and everybody always ogles your arms when you wear it,” Ron responds.

“I’ve never actually worn it!” Harry exclaims.

“You tried it on and everybody ogled,” Ron reiterates. “I thought Charlie’s eyes were gonna pop out of his head.

Harry muses about that. Charlie Weasley _does_ have the second-best taste in clothes among the Weasleys. And Harry’s darker skin _does_ glow against the pale grey cloth. 

But, “My chest!” he repeats.

“Just use a temporary sticking charm and make sure you wear a vest under it,” Ron says in what is surely supposed to be a sensible tone. 

“My belly will pooch out if I eat too much,” Harry says sullenly, already planning on wearing the tight shirt.

“Then don’t eat too much,” Ron says. “You can do this, Harry.” Ron’s voice is quiet and kind. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. I don’t think you’re the only one with feelings.” 

Harry laughs quietly. 

“The pining is mutual, Harry. You’ll be fine. Wear your slutty slutty shirt and Malfoy won’t be able to resist you.”

“I _told_ you it’s too tight!” Harry cries.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur and then it’s time for Harry to Floo home and get ready for the date. He’d sent a memo to Draco about where to meet. Harry thought Apparating together would be a better option than telling Draco ‘puns are the lowest form of humour’ Malfoy the name of the restaurant. Draco had written back in affirmation.

Harry has too much time to get ready and his mind wanders as he’s showering. Visions of long, pale legs, pink lips, blond hair just long enough to pull, run through his mind and before he realises it, he’s hard. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. “This isn't ideal.” He glares at his prick. “Have a sense of decorum,” he admonishes it. 

Regrettably, it has no response. Leaning back against the cold tile of the shower wall, he debates turning the tap to cold or indulging himself. The debate takes all of two seconds before he’s whispering a lubrication charm and taking himself in hand. 

“I’ll only get an awkward boner later,” he reasons to himself, then groans as he grips his cock tightly. 

The whole process is over in a flash; Harry’s far too nervously excited about dinner to linger. And Draco has been the main star of his most recent masturbatory fantasies, so all of Harry’s thoughts are consumed with the thought of skin the colour of fresh cream and a posh voice groaning Harry’s name. Before too long, he’s gasping and splashing come on the shower floor, his toes curled and his breath coming fast. 

“That was either my best decision or my worst,” he mutters as he starts to wash his hair. He finishes the rest of his shower with a brisk efficiency that he hasn’t had since he was at Hogwarts. 

He’s mostly dressed when he hears Luna call out from his Floo.

“Harry?” she says. “Ron said you were troubled about your date tonight. Can I come though?”

“Uh sure!” Harry squeaks out. “Let me just—”

“Harry, you’re almost naked!” Luna exclaims as she walks into Harry’s room, apparently making her way through his flat in record time.

“Get dressed,” Harry finishes, waving a hand at himself. 

“Yes,” Luna agrees. “Let me make you a cup of tea. I have a new blend that should be soothing.” 

She walks out of Harry’s room without waiting for a reply.

“Um, Luna, is it something you bought at the shop or is it your own blend?” Harry’s sure to ask because he has sampled her custom brews in the past and had gotten spectacularly high. The experience was fun, but not when he’s about to go on a date with Draco Malfoy.

“I got it at the shop, Harry,” Luna says as she starts banging things around in the kitchen. She must use magic to heat the kettle because, almost instantly, it starts to whistle and Luna is back in Harry’s room with a steaming cup of tea. She holds it out, proudly, and Harry takes a sniff of it.

“It smells a bit like grass,” he says with a frown.

“It’s organic,” Luna replies. 

Harry sips and grimaces. “Did you put any sugar in it?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

Smiling, Luna answers, “It tastes perfect as it is, Harry.”

“Sure,” Harry says with a nod. He tries another sip. It still tastes like manky grass. 

“So, well, thanks for coming over,” he says. “But it’s really not necessary. I need to leave in a few minutes to meet Draco so I’ll just enjoy my tea...by myself.”

“Whatever you need, Harry.” Luna’s voice carries through the rooms.

“Thanks!” Harry squeaks out. 

He makes a mental note to find out what kind of tea Luna made and serve it to Ron the next time it’s his turn to make them both tea at the Ministry. He hears the whoosh of the Floo and lets out a sigh. 

Luna _means_ well, but when Harry’s nerves are already strained, she sometimes makes things worse. Except for the time she got him high with her loose leaf tea. It wasn’t his finest moment, but it had really mellowed him out.

Shaking off thoughts of quasi-legal substances, Harry casts a _Tempus_ and realises he’s running late. 

“Fuck!” he shouts, running to his entryway to look for his cleanest pair of trainers. Which... Harry decides he may need to get better shoes if there's the possibility of future dates.

They’re all covered in mud and who knows what from various crime scenes but then he sees a pair of boots in the back. They’re black Doc Martens, purchased the year after his Eighth Year and Harry hasn’t seen them for ages. They’re somehow both clean and comfortable and Harry tries to put them on as quickly as possible. Feeling grateful his shoes aren’t tight and revealing, Harry runs back to his bathroom for one last look. 

His hair is still a little damp and is curling like it’s on purpose instead of haphazard. His shirt is tighter than he is completely comfortable with, but Ron was right, the colour is really flattering against his skin. Since the shirt is on the tighter side, Harry doesn’t feel comfortable in skinny jeans, so he’s put on his favourite pair of dark, straight-legged jeans. He looks down at his black boots and decides the leather jacket Sirius left him would go nicely and keep the chill off in the early June night.

Running to his closet, Harry grabs his jacket and shrugs it on and as fast as he can, then Disapparates to meet Draco.

—— 

Draco is waiting on him and looks a little annoyed. “Sorry!” Harry breathes out. “Luna was—”

“Ah,” Draco says with a soft look. “Really, then I’m surprised you’re only fifteen minutes late.”

Harry grimaces. “Thanks for waiting?” 

He motions to where the restaurant is supposed to be and he and Draco start walking together. Harry’s happy that the extra inch (or three as Draco is fond of pointing out) doesn’t mean that Harry has to quicken his pace to keep up with Draco. They seem to walk in sync and it’s another weird tidbit that Harry files away to think about later. Not in an obsessive way, just in a general, kind-of-wondering way, _thank you ever so, Ronald_.

Draco smiles. “It’s fine. You’ll be picking up the bill, and free food tastes better than—dear Merlin, Harry, this can’t be the place.”

Harry can feel laughter bubble up in his chest. “Hermione said it’s good!” he says with as much dignity as he can muster.

“It’s called Pasta Was a Rolling Stone!” Draco exclaims. 

“Ron says the meatballs are as big as your fist?” Harry offers. 

“Well if Granger and Weasley approve,” Draco says, pushing past Harry to open the door, “then I suppose it can’t be too dreadful. No matter how badly it’s named.”

Thrilled that Draco has dropped the terrible name and is in fact getting them a table for two, Harry smiles and lets himself look at Draco. Apparently, Harry was not the only one who went home to change. 

Draco’s hair is pulled half up and it looks like there’s a little braid on the left side of his head. He's wearing a pair of skintight, white jeans and his usual white shirt and a fitted cornflower blue blazer. The colours should wash him out, afterall Draco is plenty colourless on his own, but somehow the blue of the jacket makes his eyes sparkle and his cheeks rosy. Plus the tight white pants leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. Harry feels his mouth water as he gawks at the sight and he’s momentarily unable to move.

“Potter, are you coming?” Draco asks after Harry forgets how to walk.

Harry has to shake his head. “Yeah,” he croaks out. “I’m right behind you.” 

Suddenly the fear that he will overeat and his little tummy will make an appearance in his slim-fitting shirt is gone. Harry’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to eat again. Somehow, during all of the fieldwork and the dinner at Ron and Hermione’s, Harry has forgotten how incredibly _pretty_ Draco is. He looks like one of the pictures of the Catholic saints Harry had seen on a late night programme about Renaissance art. Whatever Harry’s thinking must show on his face because as soon as they reach their table, Draco smirks and Harry changes his mind about Draco looking like a saint. He’s vividly reminded of some of the racier portraits of Lucifer and his mind is filled with the sound of klaxons. 

Draco is sat at the table and Harry realises he’s still standing and gaping at Draco. He pulls his jacket off and drapes it over the back of his chair. He’s thrilled to see Draco’s face has gone pink and because his hair isn’t covering his ears, Harry is able to see exactly how red Draco’s ears have gone. 

He flexes his arms, _casually_ , and Draco pulls up the menu to cover his face.

“So what did Hermione say to order?” comes Draco’s voice over the plastic-encased menu.

“Uh, Ron was the one who—”

Draco laughs and lowers his menu to look at Harry. Harry’s sad to see his face is mostly normal-coloured again.

“Ron said their red sauce was excellent.”

“Are you going to order spaghetti and meatballs?” Draco asks in a low voice. 

He deliberately looks at Harry’s chest where, yes, as he had feared, the middle button, right between his pecs is threatening to pop open.

“Um, I think I’ll stick with a salad,” Harry squeaks out, then follows Draco’s lead and hides behind his menu.

The server walks over and Draco places an order for a bottle of wine with two glasses and an appetiser. Harry is still hiding, but in a manly way, behind his menu. 

“Thanks for ordering us nibbles,” he says, then wants to bang his head on the table. 

Harry looks up and takes in the surroundings for the first time and smiles. Their table is covered in a red and white gingham tablecloth and a wine bottle with a candle is in the centre. The bottle looks old and there must be a year's worth of melted wax cascading down the sides. The walls are covered in black and white photographs of Italian landscapes and Harry suddenly understands what Ron meant when he said the place was out of a movie. It's at once, horribly cheesy and so very perfect Harry's heart could burst.

“Thank you for this, Potter,” Draco says with a soft smile. “I would have been in my head all night if I had gone home. Today was— it wasn’t my best day ever.”

The server interrupts with their wine and calamari before Harry can say anything soppy and revealing. Instead, he waits for his glass of wine and when it’s just the two of them again, he raises his glass. 

“Happy birthday, Draco.”

Draco smiles back. “Thank you, Harry,” he says again and they gently tap their glasses, the clink barely heard over the quiet murmuring of other diners. It’s wonderful and everything Harry has always wanted and he _cannot_ believe he’s having a candlelit dinner with Draco Malfoy and neither of them are trying to maim the other. 

Harry’s perpetual awkwardness threatens to rear its ugly head so he takes a healthy gulp of wine and grabs a piece of fried food. 

“Mmmm,” he rumbles. “This is really good.” He looks up and Draco is still smiling, evidently not put off by Harry’s terrible table manners. 

They put in their order for mains and Harry ends up getting the spaghetti and meatballs. After inhaling a good portion of the calamari, Harry decides he can’t possibly eat more breaded and fried food _and_ noodles and meatballs. He starts idly playing with a piece of calamari, picking the breading off until he’s left with a ring of squid which turns out to be incredibly gross. 

Something must show on his face because Draco says, “I don’t know why you’re fretting, Harry. I won't judge you for overeating. You can order pudding and I wouldn’t— ”

“I’m not used to such a tight shirt,” Harry says.

“Why did you buy it then?”

Harry stammers, “Uh, i— it was a, um, gift? From Ginny?”

“It’s a good gift,” Draco answers with an appraising look.

“Thanks?” Harry can feel himself blush at Draco’s sudden burst of confidence. 

Their food comes and Draco lets out a little laugh. “Weasley was right,” he says. “The meatballs are as big as your fist.” 

Harry looks over to see what Draco has ordered and is pleased to see he has also ordered the meatballs. Silence falls as they start eating and Harry has trouble keeping his eyes off of Draco. 

Draco catches Harry’s eye and smirks. “So the whole talking to me and looking at my face is a new development, Potter.” 

He looks so pleased with himself Harry can’t help but smile back.

“Well, you brought me cake,” Harry reminds him. 

“Ah, so the way to Harry Potter’s heart is through sweets,” Draco drawls. “And the part where you could only look at my shoes?”

“Er,” Harry knows he’s gone red. “I have a difficult time—” he grabs his wine and takes a drink. “With people I’m attracted to? I can’t—” he drinks another large gulp of wine— “I get flustered and sometimes can't maintain eye contact.”

Draco’s eyebrows are threatening to reach his hairline. “You’re attracted to me,” he says, a little smugly.

“I mean, yeah,” Harry says to his meatballs. “You had to have known.”

“Potter, when we first started working together I thought you hated me.”

“Draco, even when I hated you, I couldn’t _hate_ you.” Harry’s gaze is still solidly on his plate of food.

“That shouldn’t make as much sense as it does,” he responds. “But then Granger came around and then _Weasley_ and you were always in their orbit and I thought, well if Potter hasn’t totally forgiven me, he’s at least learned to live with my presence. Then you started behaving really strangely and couldn’t look at my face and I thought it was because you _hadn’t_ learned to tolerate me.” 

Draco takes a small sip of his wine. 

“Then you invited me out for a birthday dinner.” 

Harry looks up at Draco who is still smiling and flushed and reclining in a faux-relaxed manner. Harry can see the slight lines of worry around his eyes and Harry has to reassure Draco that he doesn’t dislike— 

“And then, well there’s the matter of that shirt,” he says as he openly ogles Harry and dammit, Ron was right. “I mean, I knew you were fit, but sweet Salazar.” His eyes are sparkling as he takes another sip of wine. “I realised maybe you weren’t _just_ being friendly.” 

Harry squawks. “You’re one to talk with those trousers!” 

“Yeah?”

Harry nods. _Emphatically_. “You know what you look like.” 

Draco scoots his chair closer to Harry and places a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you for the dinner invite,” he whispers against Harry’s skin. 

Harry’s brain is suddenly full of flashing lights and the urge to call 999 because Draco Malfoy has _kissed him in public_.

“Uhhhhhhh,” Harry croaks out. 

Draco leans back into his seat a very satisfied look on his face. Harry wants to snog it off but they’re in public and while, yes, he will never have the manners of a Pureblood, he still has some manners and attacking the guy he’s in love with in a very public space is an _incredibly_ poor decision. He does decide that if Draco can kiss his cheek, then he can also politely kiss Draco and so, he leans over and places a featherlight kiss on Draco’s wine-tinted lips.

Predictably, this is when things go pear-shaped. 

“Is one of you Harry Potter?” Their server has rushed to the table and looks frantic. “There’s a call for you and they said it was quite urgent.”

Harry murmurs a quiet _sorry_ to Draco and follows the man back to a small office in the back.

“Harry?” Ron’s voice is frantic. “I know you’re out on your date, but we need you and Malfoy back at the Ministry right now.”

Harry lets out a sigh. “We’ll be right there, Ron.”

“I really am sorry—”

“I know, Ron.” Harry can hear the disappointment in his voice. But he also knows Ron wouldn’t call them if it weren’t truly an emergency. “I’ll go get Draco and settle the bill.”

“You might want to kiss him before you get back, it’s not…” his voice trails off. “It’s not good Harry.”

Harry scratches the back of his neck. “We, uh, already had a little kiss,” he admits.

“Harry! That’s great! You’ll have to tell me everything tomorrow or whenever this has all settled down.”

“I will.” 

There’s silence on the line for a second and Harry knows he needs to go get Draco and they need to leave. Ron would have only called him back for a dire emergency, but he wants to drag out the last of the date-type feelings before he has to go and deal with something horrible. 

His heart sinks when he realises, “It’s another Bellatrix toy, isn’t it?” 

Ron doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to, his silence confirms Harry’s fear. 

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Mate…” Ron trails off and Harry closes his eyes. The silence stretches out for half a minute before Ron says, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll go get Draco now,” Harry says and hangs up the phone. 

Their server is quietly lurking in the office, his brown eyes troubled. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks kindly.

With a sad smile Harry shakes his head. “Sorry, no. It’s, uh, police business.”

“If you have the time I would be happy to wrap up your food.” He’s looking earnestly at Harry and it’s all Harry can do to not shout at the unfairness of it all. 

“No, but thank you,” is all Harry can say. He pulls out his debit card, thankful for the twenty-seventh time that Gringotts has adapted to Muggle currency, and hands it to the server. “I’ll go get my companion, can you put everything on here?”

The server nods and scurries off while Harry walks back to Draco who is fidgeting in his chair. 

“We need to go back to the Ministry,” Draco says. There’s no question in his voice. 

Harry nods.

“I’m paying for dinner now.” Harry lets his shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, we—”

“It’s not your doing, Potter.” 

Draco stands up, walks over to Harry, and tilts his head down to kiss him on the cheek again. His lips are soft and warm, and Harry hates whomever is leaving cursed objects around London because it’s making Draco sad and it interrupted their date. 

“We’ll come back,” Harry promises as he reaches down to grab his jacket and pulls it on. 

Draco grabs his hand as they wait on their server to bring Harry’s card back. He gives them both a little smile and hands Harry the receipt and card. 

“We comped the wine,” he says, apologetic. 

Draco murmurs a _thank you_ and they walk to the Apparition point still holding hands. They reach the site and Draco pulls Harry close.

“I want to do this before we have to go face whatever is at the Ministry,” he whispers then leans down to capture Harry’s mouth with his own. 

It’s a soft, chaste kiss and Harry can almost taste the subtle hint of wine and tomato sauce and then it’s over. Draco pulls back, his tongue darting out like he wants to taste Harry on himself, and his eyes dark. 

Harry clears his throat. “We’re _definitely_ coming back to that,” he says in a voice lower than he’s expecting. 

He offers his arm and Draco takes hold and they Disapparate away. 

—— 

Seamus meets them at the Ministry with his partner, Alicia Spinnet. Seamus offers a half-hearted smile but there’s a frown on Alicia’s face.

“Ron’s already at the scene,” she tells them. 

“You both look all fancy,” Seamus says with a little leer. “Did we—”

“It’s fine,” Draco interrupts.

“Harry,” Alicia says, ignoring everyone but Harry. “It’s bad.”

Harry’s focus is on Draco as Alicia starts telling them about the scene. Harry hears _seven years old_ and _clown_ and watches as Draco’s whole demeanour changes and he becomes closed off. 

He had been so warm and pink and happy at the restaurant. As Alicia talks, all of the colour has drained from his face, his eyes have turned steel grey, his jaw is clenched. Harry wants a Time Turner so he can go back and see happy, warm Draco again, but he knows they have a job to do, no matter how much they both dread what’s to come.

“I need to gather some things from my office,” Draco whispers, and walks off without another word. 

“This is really shit timing,” Harry says, frowning. “This is the second one of these cursed toys we’ve had today. This is the first time someone has gotten hurt. Are there any theories why?”

Seamus looks at Alicia and asks her, “Do you want to give them the coordinates or head over to the scene?”

“You go,” she answers and Seamus smiles in thanks and walks off.

“Let’s wait until Draco comes back,” Harry says, and she gives him a sympathetic look.

“Sorry to interrupt the big date. Seamus hasn’t stopped talking about it all week.” She smiles at Harry for the first time since he and Draco have been back at the Ministry. “Apparently he lost twenty Galleons to Ron.”

Harry rolls his eyes at his friends betting on his dating life, but he’s glad they all support him even if they are all wankers here and there. He sees Draco walking towards them. He’s all in black now and even more closed off than when he left to go to his office.

Alicia rattles off where Harry needs to meet them and gives him a meaningful look before walking to the Apparation point.

“Are you OK?” Harry asks, searching Draco’s face for what, he’s not sure, but Draco is shuttered off and cold. 

He lets out a little laugh. “Not really, no,” Draco replies and Harry’s heart breaks a little. “I’ll be fine. Let’s go to the scene and catch the arsehole who interrupted our date.”

Harry looks meaningfully at Draco’s clothing change. “Didn’t want to get crime scene cooties on your tight jeans?” he asks with a small smile.

This seems to be the catalyst for Draco. His whole body relaxes for the first time since they were called to the Ministry. 

“You’ve found me out, Potter,” Draco says with a little blush. “I’d never get the stains out of white trousers.”

They make their way to the Apparation point and in seconds, they’re in the country at a solid, but old, house. Aurors are milling around, casting and talking. As soon as Ron sees Harry and Draco, he walks towards them.

“Before we start, I want you both to know that the victim is safe at St. Mungo's and in stable condition. She’s in a spell-induced coma for the night and the outlook is positive,” Ron says while leading them into the house. 

Harry looks at Draco and notices his shoulders aren’t as stiff as they have been.

They get inside and the entryway is filled with the detritus that comes with having a small child, various toys, small shoes carelessly discarded here and there, a purple backpack hanging on a hook. Harry hears Draco inhale sharply.

“She’s going to be fine, Malfoy,” Ron assures him. “Her parents acted quickly and the Healers were able to reverse the curse. They’re just keeping her for monitoring to make sure nothing else happens.”

“Where’s the toy?” Malfoy asks. “I want to gather as much as I can from the scene before I take it back to my office.”

Ron shouts, “Seamus!” and he joins the three of them.

“Creepy little fucker,” Seamus says with a grimace.

“Will you show me where it is?” Draco asks. 

Seamus nods and they walk away, talking quietly about the toy.

“Is he going to be OK?” Ron asks when Draco and Seamus are out of sight. 

Harry lets out a deep sigh. “I think so?” He looks around the house, avoiding Ron’s eyes. “He’s not taking it well, the curses being directed at kids and then it being his aunt who cursed everything.”

They stand in companionable silence until Draco comes back into the foyer, levitating a toy clown. It’s old, probably antique, with a bald skull and painted-on, red eyebrows that were possibly cheery when it was first made and had hair to match. But now, with age, the face has a sinister cast. 

“This was mine,” Draco says, clenching his jaw. “She gave this to _me_ when I was a child. She must have cursed it after she escaped Azkaban.”

Harry hears Ron’s sharp inhale and he has to close his eyes at the look on Draco’s face. 

“I have to go back to the Ministry,” Draco says, then there’s a loud crack of Disapparation. 

“Fuck,” Harry whispers. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“Go,” Ron says waving his arm at where Draco's just been. “We’ve got everything under control here. Help where you can, but go.”

Harry nods and pulls Ron into a hug. It’s the middle of a crime scene, but he needs the physical connection.

Ron thumps him on the back and whispers, “He’s lucky to have you in his corner.”

“Thanks,” Harry says as they step away from each other. “I’ll owl you later.”

Ron nods. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

——

Draco’s in his office with a determined look on his face. Harry bursts in without knocking and even that doesn’t stop Draco’s frantic casting. Flashes of red, green, and yellow light up his office. Harry has to say his name several times before Draco looks up.

“What?” he asks in a dead voice.

“We’re going to mine,” Harry says.

“Potter, I don’t know what you think—”

“She’s fine. The little girl is fine,” Harry interrupts, feeling tears well up. “She’s _fine_ , Draco. But you’re not. I’m not letting you stay here to run yourself ragged all night. Everyone needs you to be in top shape, and that means you have to eat more than what we had at the restaurant and sleep tonight.”

“I have to—” Draco says as he casts another spell.

“No, Draco. You don’t.” 

Draco must hear Harry’s resolve because he lets out a little sigh and casts a Stasis Charm on the clown. “I’m coming in early,” he says, a quaver in his voice.

“No earlier than eight,” Harry counters.

“Fine,” Draco bites out.

“And you’re eating when we get to my flat.”

Draco sighs and gives Harry a helpless look. “When did you get so demanding?” he asks, his eyes tired, but kind.

“You just never noticed because Ron and Hermione are bossier than I am.”

Draco sends him a genuine smile at that. “I guess there’s a lot I still have to learn about Harry Potter.”

“You can learn more while we eat,” Harry says, bustling forward and grabbing Draco. “You know the Floo address. I’ll call in some takeaway and we can eat and watch some telly if you want, or we can enjoy the quiet.” 

He pulls Draco out the door and watches as he activates the Locking Charms. 

“I suppose watching something would be tolerable.” 

Then, giving Harry a smug smile, something that Harry hadn’t dared to hope for, he declares, “And I want a curry.”

“That can all be arranged,” Harry agrees as they walk to the Atrium. 

Harry Floos to his flat and seconds later Draco joins him. He lets Draco pick a DVD while he goes to call in their order in his kitchen. When he returns to the lounge he can hear Draco singing while looking at the shelves of movies. 

Harry walks closer and hears, “And I use mouthwash, sometimes I floss, I’ve got a family, and I drink cups of tea. I’ve got nostalgic pavements, I’ve got familiar faces, I’ve got a mixed up memory and I’ve got favourite places,” so incredibly out of tune and off tempo that Harry falls in love with Draco all over again. 

He turns to Harry with Disney’s _Enchanted_ in his hand. “Didn’t know you were one for fairy tales, Potter,” he says, smirking.

“Rose likes it,” Harry answers quickly, taking the case and walking to his television. He puts the disc in and admits, “It’s a good movie.”

Half an hour into the movie, there’s a knock on the door and Harry gets up to pay for their food. Bringing it to the coffee table, he settles himself back down into his comfortable sofa and nudges Draco with his shoulder. 

“I ordered your usual.” 

Harry Summons some bowls and dumps their rice and curries into them, then hands Draco his bowl and a plastic fork from the delivery bag. 

“Thanks, Harry.” 

Draco’s still engrossed in the movie and eats his chicken tikka masala like he’s starving. 

And he may well be, Harry thinks. Their dinner date was several hours ago and neither of them ate much of their pasta. Harry eats at a more sedate pace, watching Draco watch the movie. 

Then they’re both finished eating and Draco Vanishes the trash and Harry takes the bowls back into his kitchen. When he comes back to the lounge, Draco has found a blanket from somewhere and has sprawled across the length of the sofa. 

“Make yourself at home,” Harry says, joking. 

“Come snuggle with me, Harry,” is Draco’s response, the need in his voice clear.

Harry’s chest feels tight but he's happy. “That’s a leap from not knowing if I hated you,” he says. He settles himself on one end of the couch and takes Draco’s feet onto his lap.

“Yeah, but you kissed me,” Draco responds and then yawns a little. He twists so he’s looking at Harry instead of the movie. “Thanks for this,” he whispers. “You were right. I'd have stayed at the Ministry all night.”

Harry let his hand rest on Draco’s leg and gives it a little squeeze. “I’m glad you listened to superior intellect,” he says and Draco lets out a small laugh.

“I’ll let you have this one, Potter. But don’t get cocky.” 

Then he ignores Harry and goes back to the movie. They’ve reached Giselle’s pampering montage when Harry hears Draco let out a little snore. 

Harry looks at him, _really_ looks and whispers, “I’ll keep you safe,” and lets his eyes close.


	3. Musical stylings of Jason Mraz

Harry wakes when Draco gets off the couch. The DVD menu is repeating on the television, casting the room in a low, ever-changing light.

“What?” he asks in a sleep rough voice.

“I’m going home, Potter.”

“Stay,” he says. 

“That’s moving very quickly,” Draco says as he makes his way to the door.

“No, just to sleep,” Harry says, rolling his neck. It’s stiff from his awkward angle on the couch. “I don’t want you going home and torturing yourself.”

Draco smirks. “And a night in Harry Potter’s bed will keep my thoughts off of everything?”

Harry has to bite back a smile. “Not like that, you tosser.” 

He stands and goes to where Draco is hovering in the doorway and pulls him into an embrace. 

“You’re comfy and warm,” he explains, then kisses Draco.

There’s no heat in the kiss. They’re both too tired and anxious. But it feels different from the few kisses they'd exchanged at the restaurant. Maybe it’s the fact that Draco’s sleep-mussed and soft, maybe it’s that Harry’s heart feels like it’s going to break if Draco goes home, alone, to be sad, but this kiss feels like coming home. Draco feels right in a way Harry’s never felt before. The kiss reminds Harry of lazy Sunday mornings with his friends, laughter in the slanting sunshine. It feels like everything Harry feels when he thinks of _family_. Harry sighs when it’s over and he feels Draco melt into his arms.

“You make a strong argument, Potter.” He tilts his head and captures Harry’s lips again. After a few lazy kisses, he pulls back. “Lead the way,” he says and Harry flushes.

“Just to sleep, Malfoy,” Harry repeats.

“I trust you, Harry.”

They make their way to Harry’s bedroom and Harry flicks on the light, thankful that his room is clean. Harry watches as Draco sheds his trousers and shirt, then rushes to follow suit. They settle themselves into Harry’s linens in their pants and undershirts and Harry whispers “ _Nox_ ”. They’re left in the dark, listening to each other breathe.

“She used to be my favourite,” Draco admits. “Aunt Bella.” 

He rolls to face Harry in the dark. 

“Granted she was thrown in Azkaban when I was a toddler, but my mother had a picture album and I used to watch her play with me in the photographs. I looked at the photos so much the cover of the album started to show wear. I didn’t realise she was imprisoned until Hogwarts. I’d been told she was ‘abroad’.” 

Harry rolls so they're face-to-face. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"About which part?"

"All of it." Harry takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry you grew up surrounded by hatred—"

"Nobody _hated_ me, Potter," Draco says, a little wetly. "I was well-loved."

"Yes, but the people in charge of your best interests, the people who were supposed to put your best interests first, taught you to hate more than they taught you to love."

"I'm still not a saint, Potter."

"No," Harry agrees. "But you've changed, Draco. You're not that hateful little boy anymore."

Draco doesn't answer but he does roll over and scoots back so he can be the little spoon.

"We can talk later, if you want," Harry whispers into Draco's neck. 

He feels Draco nod and wraps his arm around Draco’s waist.

“Good night, Harry,” Draco whispers back.

“Good night.”

——

Sleep doesn’t come easily for Harry. He makes and discards seventeen plans of action listening to Draco’s breath, soft in sleep. Harry wants to move, his arm is getting the tingling sensation it always gets before it falls asleep, but he doesn’t want to disturb Draco. However, his body has other plans and he has to wiggle his way out from under Draco to go to the bathroom. He relieves himself and is washing his hands when he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

“Shit,” he whispers. 

He’s been so intent on Draco sleeping and eating, that he’s failed to take himself into consideration. He has a small bit of sleeping draught in his medicine cabinet and he drowns it before he can talk himself out of it. From experience, Harry knows he’s got about ten minutes before he’s too woozy to walk so he hurries back to bed. Draco’s awake, his eyes shining from the faint light that streams in through Harry’s curtains. 

“Come back to bed, Harry,” Draco says in a rough voice. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Harry nods and slips under the sheets. Draco pulls him close and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Sleep. We’ve an early morning.”

Harry, feeling the effects of his potion, mumbles back, “Night, Draco.”

He thinks he hears Draco whisper back, but he’s too fuzzy to concentrate, and he’s asleep before he can wonder about what Draco might’ve said.

——

Harry’s being attacked by the giant squid when he wakes up.

“Get off of me, Potter!” a posh voice demands and _oh yeah_ Draco spent the night.

“Ugh,” Harry says and rolls over.

Draco shrieks and then there’s a loud thump.

“I hate you,” Draco says from the floor.

“Shit!” Harry yells. “I’m so sorry!”

Sighing, Draco says, “It’s fine. I was on the edge anyway. Has anyone told you you’re a terrible bed hog?”

His face flushing, Harry rolls over to help Draco stand. “Uh, I haven’t had many people over lately,” he answers. He flops back on the bed and asks, “What time is it?”

“A little after eight.” Draco peers at Harry. “You need to do something to your hair before we go into work. And I should Floo home for different clothes. Don’t want to start up the rumour mill.”

Harry lets out a sigh. “You’re right,” he agrees. “I’ll see you in an hour?”

Draco nods and leans down to kiss Harry’s forehead. “An hour,” he acknowledges before turning and walking out of Harry’s bedroom. 

“Seriously your bedhead is not of this earth!” he shouts from the lounge and Harry’s left smiling.

Harry rushes through his morning routine, doing the least possible amount of work before Flooing to the Ministry. He rushes to his office and almost runs into Ron.

“Tea,” Ron says in greeting.

“You’re the _best_ Mum,” Harry says, grabbing his mug and blowing the steam away. He settles into his chair, inhaling the comforting scent of _non-organic non-Luna_ tea.

Ron rolls his chair and passes Harry the notes from the crime scene, while Harry sips his tea and reads. Harry’s just about to the end of the document when Ron asks, “So, what happened after you left?”

Harry buries his face in the case file and mutters, “Draco came over for curry and a movie.”

“And?” 

Harry can’t see Ron’s face, but he knows he must be gloating.

“ _Andhespentthenight_ ,” Harry says in a rush.

“I’m sorry, didn’t quite get that, Harry.”

Harry looks up to glare at Ron, flipping him two fingers at the shiteating grin he’s got on his face.

“You know exactly what I said, Ronald.”

“Oh, you’re tetchy,” Ron teases. “Must not have gotten too lucky then.”

“We slept!” Harry finally looks up at Ron, properly. “Draco was in no state for sexy-times.”

“Are we going with ‘sexy-times’?”

“You know what I meant.” 

Their verbal sparring is interrupted when Draco walks into the office. 

“Weasley,” he says to Ron. “Harry.”

“Oi!” Ron objects. “Why is Harry _Harry_ but I’m still Weasley?”

Harry’s pleased to see Draco’s cheeks flush. 

“ _Harry_ took me out for a lovely birthday dinner last night,” Draco explains. “If you take me out, I’ll consider calling you Ronald.”

Ron snorts. “I’ll be sure to get right on that, Ferret.”

“Oi!” Draco parrots. “That’s _Mr_ Ferret to you, Weasel.”

Harry can barely keep his giggle in. Draco looks straight at Harry and winks and Harry feels his cheeks heat.

“This is disgusting,” Ron whispers. “Also!” he half-shouts, “you do both realise we’re at the sodding Ministry, right? This isn’t a second date where everybody gangs up on the ginger.”

“Bleh,” Draco says with an exaggerated shudder and Harry has to roll his eyes at them both for being so dumb.

“Seriously, though,” Ron continues. “There’s actually good news.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, leaning forward, making his chair squeak.

“Just got word from Mungo’s that the little girl is fine and going to be released tomorrow,” Ron says with satisfaction. “Go look at your clown, Malfoy.”

Harry tries to make meaningful eye-contact with Draco.

“What, Potter?” he asks. “Is there something on my face?”

“He’s trying to ask you if you want company in your office, but he’s the most awkward fucking person in the entire world,” Ron explains. Then he stares at Harry for a second. “That or he had a bad curry last night and needs to run to the toilet but doesn’t want you to know.”

“Fucking hell,” Harry spits out. He whirls to look only at Draco. “It’s the first one. I swear it. No dodgy curry for either of us.”

Draco smirks and has the fondest look on his face. “If that’s all,” he says. Turning, he starts to walk out the door. “Are you going to join me or not, Potter?” drifts over his shoulder.

“You should go, mate,” Ron says, waggling his eyebrows so much Harry’s afraid he’s going to sprain the muscle in his face that controls them. 

“Why are you like this?” he asks and Ron just smiles.

“No getting rid of me now!” Ron crows. “Go after your man, Harry. Don’t let him be sad. It’s a new day and things are looking up. Maybe Draco can figure everything out before lunch and we can all go for a celebratory pint.”

Harry smiles as he gets up to follow Draco to his office. “Mental,” he says to Ron as he walks out of their office. “You’re mental, mate.”

——

When Harry reaches Draco’s office, Draco is frantically casting. He watches in silence for a few long minutes before deciding to sit down on the loveseat. It’s apparent Draco hasn’t noticed Harry come in, his eyes haven’t left the clown since Harry arrived. His brows are furrowed, his mouth in a straight line, and it’s all Harry can do to not get up and snog him senseless. 

“Competent wanker,” he whispers.

Draco’s still casting spell after spell, sometimes making colours Harry’s never seen. Harry waits. And waits. And waits. He casts a _Tempus_ and is shocked when he finds two hours have gone by. He’s sure Ron would say something about Harry being obsessive and well, Ron wouldn’t be wrong. Finally the light show slows down and Harry can hear Draco saying something under his breath. 

“Colours of the world! Spice up your life! Every boy and every girl! Spice up your life! People of the world! Spice up your life! Aaaaaah,” he sings. 

“I’m sorry, are you singing a Spice Girls song?” Harry asks, startling Draco.

“Um,” Draco replies. Then he glares at Harry. “How long have you been lurking, Potter?”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Long enough for the Spice Girls, apparently.” Harry thinks for a moment. “How do you even know that song? It came out before Eighth Year when you started listening to Muggle pop.”

Draco raises his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, were you stalking me the _entire_ time we attended Hogwarts?” He casts one last time at the clown and looks incredibly satisfied and continues, “Their greatest hits album came out last year, OK?” Draco narrows his eyes. “How exactly did we get on the subject of mid-90s girl groups?”

“You were singing!” Harry says indignantly. 

“But I got a trace of magic from the clown that wasn’t Bellatrix’s!” Draco says back, also indignantly.

“Oh!” Harry shouts. “Well why didn’t you say so?!”

“Because you startled me!” Draco shouts back. “And why are we shouting?!”

Harry lets out a little laugh. “I don’t know,” he answers, while _not_ shouting. “But what did you find?”

“They used a Levitation Charm to move it. I’m pretty sure the person leaving them is an adult which means that they could just carry the object with no problem.”

“Why would they do that?” Harry asks.

Draco gives him a strange look. “That’s… it’s _your_ job to find that out, Potter.”

Harry smiles sheepishly. “Oh yeah.” He looks around Draco’s office. “Can I send a note to Ron?

Draco nods and pulls open a drawer, pulling out a sheet of parchment and a quill. “I’ll need to send my findings to Records to see if they have a match.”

Harry scribbles a note, folding it and sending it to Ron before looking at Draco again. “So the case is solved?” he asks. “Seems a bit—anticlimactic if I’m being honest.”

Draco lets out a low laugh. “Well there’s only about a fifty percent chance the culprit will have their magical signature in the registry. We don’t keep tabs on everyone. Mainly people convicted of violent crimes and Death Eaters. Granger led that campaign—”

“To purge most of the records, especially those who were convicted of non-violent crimes,” Harry interrupts. “I remember now.” He looks at Draco. “Are you, I mean, did they…” He doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.

“The signatures of all current and former employees of the Ministry are on file, especially those who work for or with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Draco has a wry smile on his face. “That was Granger’s compromise for not purging all of the records. She said if we can’t hold the Ministry accountable for their crimes then we should just abolish the whole thing.”

Harry nods his head. “She’s not wrong,” he agrees. “If we have crooked Aurors, they need to be prosecuted for their crimes. Those in power should always be held accountable for their actions against the people they’re supposed to serve.”

“Our signatures will stay in the database forever,” Draco adds. 

“Hermione’s incredibly smart.”

Their discussion about Hermione’s genius is interrupted when a memo comes flying back from Ron. It reads _Glad you solved it instead of spending the whole morning doing things that would bring shame to your ancestors._

Suddenly Draco’s chin is digging into Harry’s shoulder and he’s snorting at Ron’s note. “I think your ancestors would be a lot more accepting of the things Weasley is insuinting than mine.” Then he gently kisses Harry on the side of the neck. 

Harry turns to pull Draco into a hug, burying his nose in Draco’s collarbone. “Still haven’t seen your tattoo,” he says, mouthing at the sharp jut of the bone. 

Draco shivers. “Didn’t know it was a kink of yours, Harry.” His voice is impossibly soft.

“I don’t think it is,” Harry admits. “I think it’s just a _you_ thing.”

Draco wrenches himself away and scurries until he’s across the room. “You can’t say things like that to me at work, Potter!” he exclaims. 

Harry lets out a sigh and is cut off when there’s a loud knock on the door.

“Can I come in?” Ron’s voice comes through. “I know I was joking, but also, like I kinda wasn’t? You’d both better be decent!” 

Draco stalks over to the door and flings it open, then twirls and goes behind his desk, making Harry vividly remember Draco's dramatics at Hogwarts.

“There’s nothing untoward going on, Weasley, and I resent the implication—”

“Whatever, Draco.” Ron’s face is excited. “We got a match on the magical signature Draco found! Seamus and Alicia are on their way to pick him up now!”

Draco’s shoulders droop. Harry knows his frown must match Ron’s. 

“It’s good news, Draco,” Harry says.

“I know,” Draco says, a little petulant. “I’m glad we’ve caught the bad guy, I am!” he insists. “It’s just that there was all this build up and then—”

“Working the case like you’re supposed to solved it,” Ron says. “If you want, you can sit in on the interrogation.”

“Maybe you can get a bit of closure,” Harry suggests.

Draco sighs. “I suppose. It’s just that the last twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind of activity and feelings and now it’s over.”

Harry walks around the desk to pull Draco into a hug and hears Ron groan out _gross_. “It’s still good news, Draco,” he reiterates.

“Can we at least go out for drinks after work?”

Harry laughs at the look on Draco’s face. “Yes, we can go out for drinks.”

“And I was serious about you sitting in on the interrogation, Malfoy,” Ron adds. “I know this one was more personal for you which is probably why the lack of a big finish—”

Harry snorts and has to bite back his smile. “Ron,” he warns.

Ron powers on. “One could even suggest the ending left you feeling… flaccid.”

“I’m writing your mother,” Draco warns with a calculating look on his face. 

“I take it back!” Ron shouts. “Don’t bring my mum into it!”

Draco pouts and Harry wants to bite his bottom lip. 

“Harry, why are you blushing?” Ron asks.

“No reason,” he replies quickly. He looks at the floor. “So, drinks?” he asks

——

They don’t make it to drinks that night. Draco sits in on the interrogation of Virgil Fauns who reveals he'd inherited the toys from Bellatrix and is Draco’s very distant cousin. He was mad that Draco was working with the Ministry, he says, after willingly taking Veritaserum. Everything he had done was to punish Draco for being a ‘blood traitor’.”

Draco takes off the next three days and hides in his flat, only letting Hermione visit. 

“He’s upset, Harry,” she says, after her latest visit. “He’s ashamed.”

“He has nothing to be ashamed of!” Harry shouts.

Hermione only looks at him with pity in her eyes. “We both know that, but it’s harder for him to reconcile what he did before the war with who he is now.” She pulls Harry into a hug. “Don’t give up on him,” she whispers.

Harry sends a few owls and a box of Draco’s favourite sweets and finally, after receiving no answer, he goes to Draco’s flat.

“I know you’re in there, you arse!” he shouts, banging on the door. 

“Go away!” Draco shouts back.

“You have to come back to work!” Harry insists. “None of us are smart enough to solve the cases without you!”

There’s a pause before the door slowly opens. Draco’s face peers through the small opening. “I know what you’re doing, Potter, and it will probably work.” He lets out a small sigh that hurts Harry’s heart and lets Harry into his flat.

For all that Draco has been a recluse, his sitting room is still tidy. The furniture is clearly more of Draco’s favourite pieces from the Manor. Harry spies a pillow and blanket on the sofa that is a larger version of the loveseat in Draco’s office. 

“Do you not have a bed?” Harry blurts out.

Draco raises his eyebrows. “That’s helpful,” he says, snidely. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” Harry demands, apparently not able to control his brain-to-mouth filter.

“If you’re going to be a prat—”

Holding up his hands, Harry says, “I’m sorry, Draco.” 

Draco snorts a little in disbelief. “Fine, Potter.” He makes his way to the sofa and grabs his blanket, pulling it around his shoulders. He glares at Harry. “I don’t have a telly so you’ll have to entertain yourself.”

Harry ignores the glare. "Do you want Chinese? Curry? Pizza?"

Draco doesn't answer, but Harry sees him perk up at 'pizza'. 

“I’ll pick up pizza,” he says, walking to the door. “But Draco, if you want any, you have to let me back inside.”

Draco pulls his blanket more snugly around himself and lets out a little _hurmph_ of annoyance and Harry shouldn’t find it as cute as he does.

“Fine,” he groans. “I’ll let you back in.” Pouting, Draco adds, “If you have pizza.”

Harry can’t hold back his laugh as he walks out the door. 

Half an hour later, the door opens as soon as Harry’s knocked.

“Impatient?” he asks with a smile.

“Hungry,” Draco admits. “Didn’t realise it until you were in the hall and I could smell it.”

“Well let’s eat then.”

Draco grabs the box and puts it on the coffee table, not bothering to grab plates or cutlery. Harry follows him to the sofa and they both sit. Draco grabs a slice and moans at the first bite, clearly hungry. They’re both quiet as they eat and suddenly the box is empty.

Vanishing the trash and cleaning himself up, Draco looks at Harry for the first time since he’d come back with food. 

“Thanks, Potter.” His voice is small and quiet. “I needed that.”

“It’s no problem,” Harry replies. He stands and awkwardly brushes his hands on his jeans. “I’ll just uh— “ 

Harry searches Draco’s face, notices the purple almost-bruises under his eyes; the grey cast to his pale skin; the oily build-up in his hair; the hesitant way he’s holding himself. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Harry asks hopefully.

Draco’s eyes drop to the floor as he mumbles.

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

“I asked if you would mind staying over tonight.” Draco looks up and glares, seemingly upset at his show of vulnerability. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat. “You’re no trouble,” he says.

Draco’s face goes pink, but there’s the start of a smile. “I expect no funny business, Potter,” he says with a mock glare. “It’s been a tough couple of days for me and I don’t—”

“Draco,” Harry says meaningfully. “I know.”

Suddenly rushing, Draco stands and walks down the hall. “I need to take a shower,” he says over his shoulder. 

“I’ll just wait for you here,” Harry says, smiling. 

Relaxing onto the sofa, Harry looks around Draco’s flat. He smirks when he sees a scarf in Slytherin colours stashed in a corner and looks for more Hogwarts memorabilia. He doesn’t see any more green and silver, but he does see a few photographs with the Quidditch Pitch in the background. Harry stands and walks to the wall, his jaw dropping when he sees what the picture is of.

Colin Creevey must have taken the picture, Harry decides. It’s from a Gryffindor/Slytherin match and the players zoom around in the frame. But what makes Harry smile is that, in the centre of the photo, the focus is Second Year Harry and Draco taunting each other, hundreds of metres above the ground, relishing in the fight. Harry watches the younger versions of themselves argue for so long he loses track of time.

“We were both little shits back then, weren’t we?” Draco asks, startling Harry.

“You were such a brat,” Harry agrees.

“You weren’t much better, Potter.” Draco walks to Harry and stands behind him, not quite touching, but close enough Harry can feel the displaced air when he breathes.

“I like who we’ve become,” Harry says in compromise, then turns to look at Draco. 

He lets his intentions show on his face and Draco nods and leans down, letting their lips meet in the middle. They’re both far too tired and raw to do more, but Harry leans into the kiss, enjoying the warm, wet slide of Draco’s lips on his. 

After half a minute, Draco pulls back. “We should go to bed,” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, his voice rough. 

He follows Draco to his room in silence and averts his eyes when Draco shrugs out of his dressing gown. Draco’s left standing in his pants, tight black cotton, with a defiant look on his face. There’s no possible way either of them are getting hard, but Harry drinks in Draco’s appearance like it’s his very own vial of liquid luck. His eyes stutter to a stop at the pale pink nipples, pebbling in the cool air and a flash of black swoops around his chest, too fast for Harry to recognise. 

“Like what you see?” Draco asks, then raises his right eyebrow when Harry looks up at his face.

“You know you’re gorgeous, Draco.”

He preens and Harry files the look on his face under _expressions I would very much like to see again_.

“Your turn,” Draco says, still happy and pink.

Lacking any sort of grace, Harry shrugs out of his shirt and pulls off his trousers, kicking his shoes off towards the wall. He blushes when he hears Draco’s laugh.

“I can’t believe you called _me_ gorgeous when you look like that, Potter.”

Harry shrugs. He knows he looks good, his job, when it’s not dull paperwork, is very physical and he knows his body shows the strength he’s gained while being an Auror. He’s still got a little bit of softness around his waist and pecs and his stomach pooches out a little when he overeats, but overall, he’s very pleased with his body. 

Draco smirks. “Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Harry answers.

They get into the bed and it’s so weird and horrible and perfect and Harry has to remind himself that they’ve actually shared a bed before. And, aside from him accidentally pushing Draco out onto the floor, the whole thing had gone very well.

Draco mutters “ _Nox_ ” and they’re left in soft darkness. They lie in silence for a few long moments before Draco laughs. 

“What?” Harry asks.

“This is just the weirdest second date I’ve ever been on,” he admits.

“Second date?” Harry can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, you brought me food, we kissed and now we’re in bed together.” Draco moves to pull Harry into the crook of his shoulder. “I don’t know what else to call tonight, Potter.”

Harry snuggles into Draco, breathing in the sharp citrus of his soap. “Date works,” he agrees.

“Thank you, Harry.”

Harry kisses Draco’s arm. “No problem.”

—— 

Things at work settle down after that. Harry and Ron take down an illegal potions smuggling ring and Draco takes Harry out to dinner to celebrate. After walking Draco back up to his flat, Harry gently pushes Draco against his door and kisses him until they’re both breathless. Then Harry asks him out on another date.

Their next date is drinks and dancing at a club. They dance and grind on each other until Harry’s left hard and sweating and they go back to Harry’s to dry hump on his sofa. Harry wakes up the next day thankful he doesn’t have to work and spends half his day in a lust-filled haze, wanking himself raw. 

Later that week, Ron and Harry have to go on a two day stakeout and the day they return to the office, Draco surprises him with a picnic lunch. That date ends with Harry straddling Draco on the loveseat in Draco’s office, kissing each other senseless until they’re interrupted by an interoffice memo from Ron.

Draco works with Ron and Harry on another case and Harry catches Draco singing while he’s working on the curses at the site.

“Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco. They want my treasure, so they get their pleasures from my photo. You could see me, you can't squeeze me. I ain't easy, I ain't sleazy,” Draco’s singing and the moment they’re able to leave, Harry drags him back to his place to snog him silly. As soon as Draco’s left, Harry’s got his hands down his pants and he’s spattering come on the floor of his lounge.

The next week Harry is able to take Draco out to Pasta Was a Rolling Stone again. They both wear looser clothes and eat their way through several amazing dishes and a cannoli that’s so perfect, it brings tears to Harry’s eyes. They’re too full to do more than roll around in Draco’s bed and kiss. Harry spends the night and they wake up with just enough time to kiss a bit. Harry has to Floo back to his flat for a quick wank before work.

It’s almost a month to the day of their first date that wasn’t either caused by or interrupted by a cursed child’s toy that Draco runs out of patience. 

“Potter!” he shouts. “What the fuck?”

Harry leans back and looks up at Draco, his head fuzzy from lust.

“Wha?” he asks, intelligently.

“Are you afraid of sex?” Draco asks with a serious look on his face. “It’s OK if you are.” He frowns. “Or if you don’t have any interest in—”

“No!” Harry replies emphatically. “And it’s fine if _you_ don’t ever want sex! Our relationship won’t end if you don’t—”

“Oh, that’s not my problem,” Draco growls before he pounces on Harry. 

They’re in Harry’s flat, in Harry’s _bed_ after another date. This time Draco had taken Harry to a fancy French sandwich shop. He’d said it was a good compromise because the food was _French_ and thus, inherently better, but it was still _sandwiches_ so Harry didn’t have to feel uncomfortable. 

Harry had tried to glare but he’d been so amused, he couldn’t keep his smile in. Silly things, stuff that should be _so_ annoying, were cute when done by the guy you fancied, Harry’d reckoned.

Harry _definitely_ reckons Draco’s cute when he’s spread out over Harry like a really good-looking blanket. A wiggly, sexy, groaning, blond blanket and good _Godric_ did Harry let that comparison get away from him. 

He realises Draco is no longer kissing him.

“What?” Harry asks.

“You weren’t paying attention,” Draco says with a frown. “It’s rude to ignore someone while they’re in bed with you.”

Draco’s frowning but the corners of his eyes are creased like he can’t quite keep the smile off of his face, overpowering any sense of indignation. Harry giggles at him.

“It’s still rude, Potter,” he says with a big smile. He leans down again and licks Harry’s neck. And it’s not a sexy lick, it’s a big slobbering dog lick.

“Ack!” Harry shrieks. “What was that for?”

“Sex is a very serious business, Potter. I won’t have you giggling.”

This, of course, makes Harry giggle even more. He pushes Draco off of his body, watching him flop onto his back, like some sort of legless sea creature, and loses himself to laughter. The bed starts shaking from Draco’s laughter which feeds Harry’s hysteria and soon they’re both incoherent. 

“This is easily the least sexy sex I’ve ever had,” Harry says after they’ve calmed down.

“Should we light a bunch of candles and I’ll look deep into your eyes as I fuck you?” 

“Um,” Harry responds because all of his thoughts have come to a screeching halt at the thought of Draco actually fucking him. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he responds, rolling over to look Draco in the eye. “I would honestly be happy to have any sort of sex with you.” He blushes at his directness.

Draco cranes his neck and captures Harry’s mouth with his own. “I’d be happy with any sex too,” he agrees, between kisses. Then he’s kissing Harry in earnest, licking deep into Harry’s mouth and groaning at the slide of Harry’s tongue against his own.

“Fuck,” Harry whispers and moves so he’s straddling Draco.

“We could do that,” Draco says gently thrusting against Harry’s ass. “We can do whatever you want, Harry.”

“What do you want?” Harry whispers back.

Draco simply says, “You,” and Harry loses his mind, leaning down to kiss Draco, fucking his tongue into Draco’s mouth and _writhing_ in his lap.

“Harry,” Draco gasps after a minute. “I’m going to come in my trousers.”

“Then take them off,” Harry growls.

Draco laughs at him and manoeuvers himself in such a way that should be against the laws of gravity. He pushes Harry down and then Draco’s hovering over Harry like a big, sexy blanket again.

“Gah,” Harry exclaims. “I need a better simile.” 

“Do you want to talk about figures of speech or should we move on?” he asks, pulling his shirt off and looking down at Harry, a predatory look in his eyes. 

“Let’s move on,” Harry replies in a voice that is one hundred percent not squeaky. He wiggles out of his shirt and feels Draco’s eyes, heavy and dark on his chest.

“Fuck Harry,” he says in a rough voice. “I know I’ve seen you just in your pants, but _Salazar_ you’re fit.”

Harry sits up and captures Draco’s mouth with his own. He moves his arms so he can pull Draco closer and runs his hands up Draco’s back. Draco’s skin is silky and smooth under Harry’s calloused palms. He feels Draco shiver when Harry reaches his lower back.

“Feel good?” he asks, kissing up Draco’s neck to nip at the spot under Draco’s ear which never fails to turn Draco into a quivering mess. 

“You know it does, you tosser,” Draco growls back, starting a lazy roll of his hips. 

Harry nibbles on Draco’s ear and Draco rolls his hips until Harry’s prick is hard and sore, stuck under his zipper.

“Can we—” Harry starts but Draco cuts him off when he licks into Harry’s mouth. “Mmmmmrp—” Harry finishes.

But then something makes Draco giggle.

“Sorry!” he insists, pulling away. “Just—” he laughs again. “I guess it was getting annoyed at the proximity of someone else,” Draco says looking down at his chest. 

There’s a little broom, a Nimbus 2001, Harry thinks, that’s flying in circles around Draco’s collarbone. Harry reaches out to touch it and it speeds away. Harry didn’t think tattoos could emote, but the broom somehow flew away in a huff.

“I don’t think it likes me,” Harry says, watching it do figure eights and loops on Draco’s chest.

“Yeah, it’s a stuck-up little thing,” Draco says with a smile.

Harry leans over to nibble at Draco’s collarbone. “I don’t really have any experience with that,” he says to Draco’s skin that’s pink from Harry’s ministrations. 

“I thought you knew all about it,” Draco says looking up to give Harry more room to kiss and bite.

“Huh?” Harry says mid-bite.

“Weasley said you were talking about my tattoo that day.” Draco’s ears go pink, making Harry smile.

“We were?” 

“Yes, Potter!” 

Draco’s flush has traveled from the tips of his ears to the hollow of his throat and Harry wants to see if he can make Draco blush even farther down.

“You and Weasley were talking about—”

“The fact that everybody knew I was in love—” Harry pauses and feels his eyes go wide. “Um, that is to say, we were talking about your tattoo and how brave it was for you to get it and whether or not it hurt and how I’m too in love with myself to ever get one. And Ron said that it mustn't hurt too much because—” 

Harry’s babbling. He’s completely babbling but he’s also helpless to stop himself.

“That seems oddly specific and also false,” Draco says, interrupting Harry mid-babble. He grabs Harry’s face and makes him look directly into Draco’s grey eyes. 

“Potter?” he asks gravely. “Are you in love with me?”

Harry can feel his cheeks heat and he averts his eyes. “I’m not _not_ in love with you?”

Draco doesn’t answer but he _does_ shove his tongue in Harry’s mouth in a decidedly unsexy manner. Harry holds on for the ride until Draco decides to release his face and looks deep into Harry’s eyes again.

“You’re in love with me,” he says and Harry tries to look anywhere but Draco’s eyes.

“I mean, you don’t...” Harry sighs. “It doesn’t have to be a thing.”

“Oh, I’m gonna make it a thing,” Draco growls then gets up off of Harry.

“No! I take it back if you’re going to leave!” Harry whines.

Draco rolls his eyes then leans down to pull his trousers and pants off in one motion. Harry makes a sort-of dying caveman grunt when he sees Draco’s dick. It’s pink, like the tips of his ears and thick enough to be a mouthful. 

“We can’t do much when you're still half dressed, Potter,” Draco says, a bit petulant.

“Right!” Harry squeaks and starts to shimmy out of his clothes. 

“Turn,” Draco demands.

“Um,” Harry answers and rolls over. 

Draco lets out a huff and motions to Harry that he needs to turn his body at a forty-five degree angle. Harry does as he’s told and his legs are dangling off the side of the bed. 

Draco grabs the ankles of Harry’s jeans and _pulls_. Suddenly Harry’s left with his cock tenting his pants, a small wet spot, very visible against the light green cotton.

“Pants!” Draco insists.

“You’re bossy.” Harry frowns but unceremoniously pulls down his pants and throws them… somewhere. Harry’s pants could gain sentience and start dancing for all Harry cares about them at this very moment. 

Draco watches Harry undress with big eyes. Then it’s as if he’s just realised what Harry says and he shakes his head a little. “You knew I was bossy when you fell in love with me, Potter.”

“Pfft,” Harry sputters. “I should have known you were going to blow it all out of proportion,” Harry grouses. “It’s not a big deal.”

Draco sits down on the bed, and flops backwards so they’re both laying in the bed with their feet more-or-less on the floor. 

“It _is_ a big deal, Harry,” Draco whispers. He reaches out and grabs Harry’s hand, pulling it up and kissing it. Harry feels a little twinge in his chest from happiness and he can’t keep the huge smile off of his face.

“Thanks, Draco,” he whispers back. Then he smirks. “Are we going to have sex tonight or…”

“That depends.”

“On what?” 

Harry’s using his most exasperating, insincere voice. He’s routinely used it with reporters and it’s never failed to annoy his audience. Draco doesn’t seem immune and he pulls his hand out of Harry’s and pinches him, hard, on the side.

“Circe’s tits, you’re annoying,” Draco says, making Harry laugh.

“Well you done done me and you bet I felt it, I tried to be chill but you’re so hot that I melted,” Harry starts to sing.

“Potter—”

“I felt right through the cracks and now I’m trying to get back. Before the cool done run out, I’ll be giving it my best-est. Nothing’s gonna stop me but divine intervention—”

“Potter!” Draco shouts. “I may not be divine intervention, but please cease your caterwauling!”

“What?” Harry asks with a shiteating grin. “You sing all the time!”

“Yes,” Draco agrees. “But not when we’re naked!”

Harry shrugs. “To be fair, this is the first time we’ve been naked together so it’s not like it’s a trend.”

Draco pinches Harry again. “I will leave your flat,” he threatens.

“It felt right in the moment?”

“Are you completely mental?” Draco says, shouting a little.

Harry shrugs but the effect is muted by the fact that they’re still lying side-by-side on the bed. “It’s a Muggle song called ‘I’m Yours’ and I thought—”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the musical stylings of Jason Mraz.”

Harry snorts. He _tries_ to keep his laughter in, he really does but, “Only you would be so pretentious about Jason Mraz,” he huffs out between giggles.

Draco groans and lifts up his head to look at his prick. “We’re obviously not going to get any,” he says to it. “Let’s go home and I’ll treat you right.”

“No, stay,” Harry insists in a rush. “I just wanted you to know that I’m yours and you’re so hot that I melted and that’s why I’m such a moron when you’re here.”

“That does explain a lot about our time at Hogwarts.”

“Hey!” Harry insists but he decides to change the mood and slides off the bed to kneel on the floor. 

He pushes Draco’s knees apart and settles between his legs. Draco’s head pops up again to look, first at Harry, then at his cock.

“Are we finally moving forward with this?” he asks in a bored tone. 

Harry can completely see through the bored facade because he nibbles on Draco’s inner thigh and Draco lets out a little _eep_ of surprise.

“Would you like to move forward?” Harry asks.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Draco responds. “I would be happy with a quick wank at this point.”

“Oh, I think we can do better,” Harry says. “Afterall I _am_ in love with you.”

Draco sighs. “You are that,” he agrees. “And it’s a sound decision on your part.”

“Thanks ever so,” Harry replies then bites Draco’s other thigh.

“This is actually doing it for me, Potter,” Draco admits. “Mocking each other whilst naked is more arousing than I had anticipated.”

Harry doesn’t answer but he does nibble up Draco’s thigh until his nose is in the crease of Draco’s pubis. The smell is heady, spicy from Draco’s soap combined with the clean scent of Draco’s sweat, and Harry reaches down to grab his own cock and give it a couple of dry strokes. He moves his head to the right and pulls one of Draco’s balls into his mouth, rolling it round and giving it a gentle suck.

“Fuck!” Draco says emphatically.

“Yeah?” Harry asks after he’s released the testicle. 

“Don’t stop!” 

Harry shrugs and pulls the other one into his mouth, giving it the same treatment. 

“You really do love me,” Draco groans. 

Harry hums his affirmation and Draco gasps. 

Loudly.

Harry pulls off with an obscene sounding pop and looks up at Draco. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks.

“I don’t care,” Draco says, a little breathless. 

Harry feels a sudden, unexpected burst of shyness. “Would you want to fuck me?” he asks.

Draco rolls over, almost kicking Harry in the head, and humps the bed. Harry’s mind goes blank at the sight. Draco’s arse is on the smaller side, he’s got a thin build, but his arse is muscular and Harry has to check for drool, the sight is so enticing.

“We can do that,” Draco responds in a shaky voice. “Are we talking full penetration or—”

“Oh, yes,” Harry answers. He puts as much heat into his voice as possible and says, “I want you to open me up and fuck my arse.”

Draco humps the bed again and then stops, his whole body tense. He lets out a little sob and rolls over to his front, this time not missing Harry’s head. 

“You can’t just say things like that!” he hisses.

“You kicked me in the head!” Harry hisses back, holding the ear that Draco had knocked his boney knee into only seconds before.

“I was about to come!” Draco hisses again because apparently that’s a thing they do now.

“Oh,” Harry says. “That wouldn’t have been the end of the world.”

“I don’t think you’re taking into consideration the urge I have to be inside you, Harry.”

And well, Harry’s brain does that static thing that used to be on the television at the Dursley’s when he would flip to a channel their satellite didn’t broadcast. He gets himself together and crawls onto the bed, pulling Draco into a hot, wet kiss.

They break apart and Draco tugs at Harry until they’re lying in the proper position on the bed. 

“Do you want my fingers or—”

“No,” Harry says, his lust-filled brain dialed up to eleven. "That takes too long."

He scrabbles for his wand and casts, grimacing at the stretch and dual tingle of a cleaning and protection charm.

"What did queer wizards do before someone invented that?" he asks, still frowning.

Draco leans over Harry and he must have cast a lubrication charm, wandless _and_ wordless, the flash bastard, because he slides his fingers inside Harry and they're so slick.

"They did it the slow way, Harry." Draco's tone is almost pedantic and Harry would strangle him if he didn't currently have two long fingers inside of Harry's arse. "Not everybody is as impatient as you, you know." 

Harry wiggles on Draco's fingers and gasps when he delicately brushes Harry's prostate.

"Well clearly they've never been in bed with you," he replies in a breathless voice. "Because— _ohmygodDraco_ right there— they wouldn't have had the patience for the slow way."

Draco chuckles and flicks his fingers against Harry's prostate again. 

"I'm almost ashamed to admit this is doing wonderful things for my ego," he says and he starts fucking Harry on his fingers in earnest.

"Draco!" Harry shouts, half-blind with lust. "I either need another finger or your cock!"

"That can be arranged," Draco drawls and Harry wants to fuck him until he's as crazed as Harry is so he pushes Draco down and climbs on top.

"If you don't have any objections, I'm going to ride you," Harry says, teasing his hole with the tip of Draco's prick.

"Whatever you want."

Draco's barely finished his sentence before Harry's impaling himself and groaning at the stretch. His earlier observation was correct: Draco is _thick_.

They both groan when Harry's arse meets Draco's hips.

"Tight," Draco grits out.

"You're just big," Harry counters.

He sits there, adjusting to the stretch that his prep spell had only partially prepared him for. After a year, or a few minutes— depending on which body part you ask— Harry raises himself up an inch and gently lowers himself back down. 

"I'm not going to last," Draco admits.

"'S fine," Harry replies. "I won't either." He grunts and does another micro-lift-and-lower and grunts. "Feels like you're splitting me in half."

Draco groans and grabs Harry's hips, thrusting up into him. Harry gasps at the sensation. He leans forward so he's propping himself on his elbows by Draco's head. The slight change in position allows Harry to bounce his hips while Draco fucks up into him. 

Harry's breath is harsh to his ears and he feels little tendrils of sweat starting to form on his upper lip, behind his knees, at the base of his skull. Every third stroke, or so, Draco's cock grazes Harry's prostate and Harry can feel the sensation down to his toes.

"Draco!" Harry cries.

"Touch yourself," Draco grunts out. "I wanna see—"

Harry can't understand anymore because as soon as he's touching himself, his brain is once again filled with static. He roughly pulls on his prick, barely noticing when Draco spells lube into Harry's palm. The slide is better and only a minute passes before Harry's coming.

"Draco," he gasps out, his eyelids slamming shut and his whole body tensing. 

Harry can feel his orgasm in his _toes_. It sets his body aflame like a pyre on Bonfire Night. He's gasping like a fish out of water— Harry has just enough awareness to wish for a sexier comparison— he's coming so hard. It's all the things wizard porn has promised, but better because it's _Draco_ who's making him feel this way.

Harry finally finishes and loses all the strength in his arms. He's over-sensitive, but meets Draco's thrusts head on. Draco's fingers are digging bruises into Harry's hips and there's literally nothing better than the slight pain from Draco's fingers and cock. He's still riding the high of his orgasm so nothing is truly painful. But—

"Are you close?" Harry has to ask, knowing the _almost_ painful sensations will become too much soon.

"Tell me," Draco says with a crazed look in his eyes.

It takes half a second for Harry to realise what Draco wants him to say.

"I love you," he says and kisses Draco, closed mouth and hard.

That seems to be all it takes for Draco because his neck and back are arching up, his hips stutter under Harry, and his face, neck, and chest turn bright red. A few seconds later, he collapses like a rag-doll.

Harry gently moves himself off of Draco, grimacing at the feeling of come starting to drip out of his arse. "You're sleeping in the wet spot," he declares. 

Draco snorts at him. "Magic, Potter. Means we can get rid of the wet spot."

"Sure," Harry agrees easily. "But you have to do it. You fucked all the magic out of me."

Draco rolls over to kiss Harry. "I'm happy to make that sacrifice."

Harry waves his hand in the air above their faces. "Awfully generous," he allows.

"Well, you do love me."

Harry turns his head so he can look Draco in the eye.

"I do."

"Historically speaking, I've done a lot for love, Harry." Draco's face is suddenly serious. "I promise to treat your love with the respect it deserves." 

Draco smiles and the tips of his ears turn pink, making Harry smile in return. 

"And I promise, as soon as I catch up, I'll tell you. Because you said you were mine, but I'm also yours, Harry. For as long as you want me."

Harry has no answer except to kiss Draco. "I love you," he whispers into Draco's lips.

"I know," Draco says smiling. "It's one of your better qualities."

**Author's Note:**

> This accidentally turned into an extremely loose 5+1 for singing.
> 
> Draco's five are:
> 
> "Gimme More" by Britney Spears from her album _Blackout_ (2007)
> 
> "A Thousand Miles" by Vanessa Carlton from her album _Be Not Nobody_ (2002)
> 
> "Mouthwash" by Kate Nash from her album _Made of Bricks_ (2007)
> 
> "Spice Up Your Life" by The Spice Girls from their album Spice Up Your Life (1997) but Draco references their greatest hits album that came out in 2007
> 
> "Fergilicious" by Fergie featuring will.i.am on her album _The Dutchess_ (2006)
> 
> And then, of course, Harry sings "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz from his album _We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things._ (2008) which is also, coincidentally, the only album I didn't have to look up details for because like Harry, I'm a sap.
> 
> \--
> 
> 🎵 This work is part of H/D Wireless, a song inspired, anon, Drarry fest with its home on tumblr! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, shower our content creators with all the love you have to give by leaving kudos ❤️ and comments 💌 on their work!
> 
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**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ficbinding] In Love With the Ferret](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623791) by [Owl_Postmaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owl_Postmaster/pseuds/Owl_Postmaster), [queercore_curriculum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queercore_curriculum/pseuds/queercore_curriculum)




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